


Under your skin feels like home

by Tails89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cursed Derek Hale, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sterek, Feral Derek Hale, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Blood, Not Beta Read, Scott is a Good Friend, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89
Summary: *Complete*Derek has never been particularly forthcoming with his words and it wouldn't be the first time he's gone off grid with no explanation. Still, they'refriendsnow which means Stiles is going to worry about him, even if the rest of the pack just brush it off as Derek being... Derek.But is there something more malicious at play here? And can they figure out what's going on before it's too late.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 60
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

The package sits unopened on the table. A large white envelope with the university logo embossed in the top left corner. It’s laying there when Stiles gets home from school, his father sitting in one of the vacant chairs. Expectant.

Stiles has not been looking forward to this conversation.

“MIT, huh?”

Rather than answer, Stiles reaches for the envelope. He’s been putting off this conversation since the topic of colleges had first come up.

Scott has been waxing poetic about his dreams of UC Davis for months. There’s a campus barely a half hour drive from Beacon Hills. Super convenient, according to Scott. Kira gushed about them going to college together. Couple goals or whatever. Malia hasn’t even decided if she wants to further her education. She got through high school, and for now, that is enough for her.

Stiles hasn’t applied to any colleges in California.

As they’d approached their final year, this feeling has taken root in his gut. Run, it tells him. Get out while you can. University offers the best chance to escape Beacon Hills.

If Stiles survives that long.

“Stiles?” His dad is still waiting for him to answer.

“Maybe?” The packet is heavy in his grip. MIT had been his first choice. There’s a program there that had really appealed to him, plus Lydia would be there - she’d received an early offer months ago - so Stiles wouldn’t be completely alone. He digs his fingers under the sealed flap and tears the package open. The thick white paper rips easily under his fingers and the first page is exposed.

_Congratulations, Mr Stilinski._

Stiles scans the letter, breath tight in his chest. He got in.

Wordlessly he hands the letter to his father, and waits anxiously as the Sheriff reads.

“This-” John places the letter down on the table. “This is wonderful Stiles. And a partial scholarship? I’m so proud of you.”

All the air that Stiles has been holding rushes out in relief. “You’re not mad?” He asks. “I thought maybe you’d want me to-“

“To stay?” John’s smile grows wistful. “I can’t pretend it won’t be hard if you go so far away. But I think it would be good for you to get out of Beacon Hills, to live a normal teenage life without supernatural interference.”

“Thanks Dad,” Stiles flicks through the rest of the paperwork. There’s a lot to go through before the end of the school year. “Uh, could you keep this between us for now? I kinda haven’t told anyone about-“ he flaps the paper in his hand.

“Why not?”

Stiles shrugs. “It kind of feels like I’m abandoning everyone.”

“And you’re afraid that’s how they’ll see it?”

Stiles shrugs again. “I don’t know. Maybe. “

“They’re your friends,” his dad reminds him. “They’ll be happy for you.” He hands the letter back to Stiles. “I won’t say anything,” he says, “but you should tell them.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stiles says, tucking the letter back into the envelope. “I’m going to head out for a bit.”

The Sheriff nods. “I’ve got work tonight, so I’ll see you in the morning.”

Stiles goes upstairs to change and shower before rushing out to his car. Derek has called a pack meeting, which for the last few weeks fortunately means pack bonding rather than meet the latest supernatural threat.

Honestly, Stiles hadn’t thought it would stick the first time Derek demanded everyone meet up at the loft for ‘Pack Bonding through Torture’. Derek hadn’t used those words; he’d barely used any words. If Stiles remembered correctly, the text had read something like _Saturday 1pm. Do not be late_ , with no other explanation.

Derek had made them run through drills for most of that afternoon until Stiles had all but collapsed into an exhausted heap and demanded a break. It was just by coincidence that he’d had his laptop in his bag. He’d hooked it up to the TV while the pack was waiting for their take-away to arrive and they’d ended up watching movies for the rest of the night.

Two years later and the pack still meets up once a week for a group dinner and a movie, taking turns to pick. It was actually one of the highlights of Stiles’ week.

He heads around to the loft, noting that his is the only car in the car park. Stiles grabs his bag and heads for the lift. It grumbles and shudders its way to the top floor. Not for the first time, Stiles wonders why Derek still lives in this junk heap.

He finally reaches Derek’s level and tumbles forward into the open space.

“Hey, you got more furniture!” He throws his bag onto the couch and goes to examine the two new armchairs sitting in front of the television.

“You kept complaining about sitting on the floor.” Derek’s voice drifts from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, because it’s uncivilised,” Stiles calls back. He drops down into one of the new chairs, slinging his legs over the arm rest. “These are super comfy by the way.”

“Thank god you approve.” Sarcasm drips from his voice as Derek descends the stairs from his bedroom. “Also, come in Stiles, make yourself at home, you’re only two hours early for the pack meeting.”

“Thanks, I will.” Stiles grins and kicks off his shoes, half twisting in the chair so he can look at Derek. The werewolf’s dark hair is wet and slick back. He must have only recently showered. “So, what have you been up to?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “Working on the house. Just got home. You hungry?” He heads towards the kitchen area.

“Always,” Stiles pushes up from the seat and follows. “That’s cool.” He takes a seat on one of the bar stools – another recent edition. “How’s it coming? Last time we were all over you’d just knocked out one of the bedroom walls.”

“It’s slow,” Derek rummages around in the fridge pulling out a carton of eggs.

“You could get some help.” Stiles says.

“I like working on it by myself,” Derek says setting a frypan on the stove top. “It feels good to be doing something productive and I’ve let it sit there for so long. To be honest I’m glad I decided not to tear it down completely.” He switches on the hotplate and turns to Stiles. “So why are you here so early?”

Stiles thinks back to his conversation with his dad earlier, about the letter he left sitting on the kitchen table. He feels like Scott should be the first person he tells, they’re best buds.

“I got an acceptance letter today,” he says quietly. He can test the waters with Derek. They’re friends now and Stiles can use that reaction to plan out the conversation with Scott.

Derek stares at him from the other side of the island, one eyebrow raised waiting for Stiles to elaborate.

“MIT.” Stiles stares at the kitchen bench rather than meet Derek’s gaze. He doesn’t want to think about how much Derek’s opinion means to him right now.

“That’s pretty far away,” Derek says. He cracks the eggs into a bowl and whisks them up.

“I know. I, um, haven’t told any of the others yet.” Stiles looks up. He watches Derek cross back to the stove and pour the mixture into the pan. “I just… need to get out for a bit, you know? Get away from all this.” He spreads is hands in a vague gesture encompassing all of Beacon Hills.

For a moment Derek says nothing, just stands over the stove watching the eggs cook and Stiles can feel his stomach sinking.

“I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, this place-“ Derek takes a breath. “It’s a lot. It makes sense that you’d want to escape it for a while.” He tips the scrambled eggs onto two plates. “Besides,” He pushes one plate towards Stiles, a slight uptick to his lips. “If you’re on the other side of the country you can’t show up uninvited and eat me out of house and home.”

Stiles scoffs. “I’d still find a way.”

~~

One week later Stiles lets himself into his house with a sigh and drops his keys into the bowl by the front door. Behind him in the driveway, the squealing of tires against bitumen announces the hasty departure of his date. Stiles closes the front door a little more forcefully than necessary and sinks back against it.

“So, how was it?”

“Jesus Christ!” Stiles throws his head up at the noise. His heart races, pounding against his ribcage.

“Nope, just me,” Erica’s sprawled out across the couch, her smile predatory as Stiles enters the room. “So, how was it?” She sits up and swings her legs around to make room on the cushion beside her.

Stiles shrugs, dropping down onto the couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table next to Erica’s. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises in disbelief. “C’mon, Stilinski. Don’t give me that bullshit, I want the deets.” Erica knocks their shoulders together.

“It was-“ Stiles searches for the right words to capture the essence of his evening. “He was nice?”

“Nice.” Erica looks unconvinced.

“Yeah, you know, he was just really nice. A nice person.” Stiles pulls his phone from his pocket. There’s already a text there – _I had fun tonight._

Erica plucks the phone from his hands. “So, he was boring.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans. “So boring.” He flops back against the couch. “He just went on and on about yogurt. _Yogurt!_ Like dude, c’mon, nobody cares! I tried changing the subject, but he literally did not have an opinion on anything.” He holds out his hand, gesturing for Erica to return his phone. She holds it just out of his reach with a wicked grin.

“You know what your problem is?” Erica finishes tapping at the phone and hands it back with a flourish.

“What?” Stiles glances through his texts, looking for evidence of Erica’s meddling.

“Your problem is that you’re already hung up on somebody.”

Stiles doesn’t need to look at her to know Erica’s wearing a shit-eating grin. He can hear it in her words.

“Really?” He draws the word out, still searching through his phone.

“But you’re too chicken shit to ask him out.”

Stiles tucks his phone back into his pocket. He’s sure whatever Erica did will come back to bite him on the ass at some point. He risks a look up at her.

“So, you ask out these other guys, and it’s easy because there’s no fear of rejection, but they just don’t measure up, do they Stiles?”

He narrows his eyes. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says slowly.

“You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me Stilinski.” Erica extends a finger; a blood red nail taps his chest. Hard.

Stiles pulls a face and rubs at his sternum. “Sure okay, since you seem to know so much about me, maybe you could let me in on who this mystical person is.”

“Seriously?” Erica stares at him for a long moment. “You better not be bullshitting me right now.”

“Me?” Stiles lets his jaw drop open and clutches his chest in mock hurt. “I would never!”

“Excuse me if I don’t believe you for a second,” Erica mutters. “You’re in love with Derek! Don’t even try to deny it.”

A laugh bursts from Stiles before he can stop it. “Derek? You mean Broody McBrooderson? Sourwolf?” He chuckles. “Yeah, sure, I am head over heels for Derek and his eyebrows of doom. Seriously Erica?”

“But you’re at his place _all_ the time,” Erica protests.

“So are you,” Stiles counters. “We’re _all_ at his place all the time. He hosts pack night.”

“Yeah, but what about last Wednesday?” Erica smirks like she’s won. Stiles wracks his brain, he barely remembered what he’d done that morning let alone almost a week ago.

“Derek asked me for help with those pixies,” he explains as he remembers. “You know, the ones that nearly killed Jackson?”

Erica shrugs. “Say what you want, I know I’m not wrong about this.” She rises from the couch. “And this conversation is not over.”

She walks from the room, leaving Stiles in a state of utter confusion on the couch. As he replays their conversation in his head, he barely hears the slam of the front door.

He’s still sitting there an hour later when his Dad gets home. Stiles takes that as his cue to head upstairs. It’s late and his room is dark. Stiles doesn’t even bother with the light. He just picks his way across the floor and flops onto his bed. He rolls over onto his back and-

“Erica said you went on a date.”

Stiles springs from his bed, leg catching on a sheet and sending him tumbling onto the floor.

“Jesus _fucking_ werewolves! What is wrong with you people?” He curses, untangling himself from his bedding. “What the hell Derek? Why are you here?” Stiles sits up and looks across at the dark shape seated at his desk.

“I saw that research-“

Stiles cuts him off. “I wasn’t actually looking for an answer.” He walks across the room to flick the light on. “Because unless someone is literally dying right now, there’s really no reason for you to be here.”

Derek grumbles under his breath.

“Yeah, didn’t catch that big guy,” Stiles sits on the edge of his bed. “Remember, not everyone has the werewolf super hearing.”

“-had an argument with Isaac.”

“Okay,” Stiles waits for Derek to continue.

“Went for a run to cool off.”

“And what? You just happened to end up here?” Stiles asks. “You could have just said so… and you know… maybe knocked on the front door like a normal person rather than scaring the bajeezus out of me. _Again._ ”

“You turn up at my place uninvited all the time,” Derek argues.

“Through the front door,” Stiles counters. “And not through the window like a crazy person!” He’s not in the best mood after dealing with both an epically awful date and Derek’s madness in the one night.

Derek mutters something incomprehensible under his breath.

“I’m going to pretend that was an apology,” Stiles stands. “Look, I’m going to crash so…” He lets the words trail off, hoping Derek would get the hint.

“Sure,” Derek stands too, his movements are stiff and jerky. “Uh, thanks. Goodnight.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” For the second time that night Stiles watches on in confusion as a pack member exits his house.

He waits until he hears the soft thud of Derek landing on the grass, then turns the light back off and crawls into bed.

~~

Stiles isn’t any less confused the next day.

He and Scott are having a Bro Day when Derek turns up with his book of mythical creatures which he shoves roughly towards Stiles.

“Yeah, no, I’m not dealing with you when you’re being all growly like this dude,” Stiles dismisses the werewolf and turns back towards the living room. He leaves the front door open so Derek can follow him in. “You have another fight with Isaac?”

Derek shakes his head.

Stiles doesn’t push for a response, and instead says, “We’re just playing Xbox. You can hang out if you want.”

He goes back to sit with Scott and picks up his controller. Derek takes a seat in the armchair off to the side. For the next half hour, Stiles gets his ass completely handed to him by Scott. He’s only half paying attention to the game, as he watches Derek out of the corner of his eye.

The werewolf had entered the house all twitchy and growly, but he’d slowly seemed to relax as he paged through the book he was holding.

After losing again – spectacularly – Stiles suggests they switch to watching a movie.

“Any more luck with the pixies?” He asks while Scott searches through Netflix.

Derek shakes his head. “I can’t work out where they’re hiding, but they haven’t attacked anything in a while and I’m wondering if it was a one-off occurrence. Maybe Jackson was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Of course, Jackson would be the one to piss them off.” Stiles jokes.

“It could have just as easily have been you,” Derek replies, closing the book. “I’ve never met a person you couldn’t piss off.”

“Oh, bite me Hale,” Stiles grins.

“I’d probably catch something and die, not worth it.”

“Gross,” Scott mutters beside them.

“Don’t you start,” Stiles smacks Scott in the arm. “This is not gang up on Stiles hour.” He rises from the couch. “We need popcorn.” He leaves the room quickly, before the heat in his cheeks becomes too noticeable. He putters around in the kitchen, throwing a few glasses into the sink while he waits the microwave to beep. He finds a bowl and rips open the popcorn bag to pour it in.

“Hey, so I was thinking-“ Stiles pauses mid-sentence at the raised voices coming from the living room.

He snatches the bowl of popcorn from the bench and heads out of the kitchen, towards the sound of confrontation. As he rounds the corner, he catches a glimpse of Derek, his face scrunched up in a snarl.

“Dude, what?”

Stiles finches at the slam of the door. The force is strong enough to rattle the windows as Derek stalks away from the house.

From where he sits on the couch, Scott looks at Stiles in surprise.

“What the hell just happened?” Stiles asks, setting the popcorn down on the coffee table. Scott pauses the game he’d been playing and twists to face Stiles.

“Dude, I haven’t got a clue.” Scott turns back to the television.

“I was gone for two minutes! I thought you guys were getting along.”

“What? We are. We were talking about the pack night this weekend and he just suddenly lost it.”

Stiles glances out the window to watch the retreating figure. “That’s weird. He was acting really odd last night too. All growly and angry.” He debates going after the werewolf.

“It’s Derek,” Scott reminds him, thumb jamming at the controller button. “Fits of anger are, like, his main personality trait.” On cue, an engine revs outside and a car peels off down the street.

“They were when we were sixteen and stupid and, you know, getting him arrested for murder he didn’t commit. I have not done a single annoying thing today.” Stiles catches the look Scott flings him and drops down onto the couch. “What? Okay, fine. Maybe there were one or two _small_ things but I wasn’t even doing anything when he stormed out. I wasn’t even in the room! Despite what everyone says, I can be quiet, and Derek is acting weird.”

“I don’t get all the fuss,” Scott tells him. “You were the one who calls him Sourwolf, you’re the one always teasing him about his angry eyebrows.“

“It’s called banter Scotty, you should look it up. Friendly banter between friends.”

“Uh, it’s called flirting Stiles. Was I ever this bad with Kira?”

Stiles scoffs. “This is nothing like you and Kira. You and Kira are true love. She’s a kick ass Disney princess and you’re her prince. Kira-“

“Your commitment to my relationship is kinda creepy.” Scott grimaces. 

“They were your words, not mine,” Stiles tells him, shrugging. “And this isn’t the same thing. It’s not even _a_ thing. There is no thing between me and Derek.”

“You keep saying that,” Scott grins, “but you forget that I can hear when you lie. You totally wish there was a thing.”

“Scott-“

“We’ve been best buds since preschool. You know you can tell me. You made me sit through your years of pining for Lydia, you know this is a no judgement zone.” Scott’s draws a cross over his heart.

“You need to shut your face,” Stiles warns.

“Fucking make me.”

Stiles scrambles over the back of the couch to tackle his buddy, “Oh you are so on.”

~~

Three days later, Stiles is staring at his phone.

_Sourwolf: You can’t have Pack night here._

It’s the first time they’ve spoken since the werewolf had stormed out of his house.

And to think Stiles thought they’d finally moved past single sentence text messages. The text immediately above that one had been sent in three parts. What had happened in the last week to put Derek in this mood? Stiles ran through their timeline of shitty anniversaries in his head, but nothing stuck out as obvious.

Clicking on the phone symbol beside Derek’s name, Stiles lifts his phone to his ear and waits. The call goes straight through to voicemail after ringing once, which he is pretty sure means the call has been rejected.

“Derek, hey, just checking in,” he says lamely, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Y’know… haven’t heard from you in a while and all that. Except for the text… today… so I have… heard from you. Text doesn’t really count though but um, anyway. Uh, call me ba-” The tone tells him he’s run out of time and the message gets cut off. “Real smooth, Stiles.” He throws his phone onto the bed and sits in the chair beside his desk.

Stiles is sure something’s off with the werewolf. He’d brought it up with the rest of the pack, but no one was concerned about Derek’s behaviour, shrugging it off as business as usual. No one seemed to be in any rush to support their former Alpha and that just didn’t sit right with Stiles.

Maybe he _did_ have a crush? Maybe he was overthinking things? Maybe it was the knowledge of what it was like to be in a bad place and feeling like there was no one there for you. Stiles certainly knew that feeling after the shit that had gone down with Theo and Donovan.

He snatches his phone back up and shoots off a text to Scott - _Looks like you’re hosting Pack Night this week -_ then stuffs his cell in his back pocket. His keys are sitting on his desk. Stiles snags the jacket hanging over the back of his seat as he passes, flicking his keys around his finger before slipping them into his pocket.

“Back soon,” he calls to his Dad on the way out the front door. He’s going to get to the bottom of this or so help him.

The loft is only a twenty-minute drive from the Stilinski house.

Stiles parks out the front and makes his way inside, footsteps echoing along the concrete hall that leads to the lift. The loft is quiet when Stiles lets himself in. That doesn’t mean much. Stiles knows Derek isn’t above hiding in his room upstairs when he doesn’t want company. That’s the first place he checks.

Empty.

The sheets on the bed are bunched up towards the end and there is a towel folded neatly on the dresser, but no broody werewolves.

Stiles sighs and checks the rest of the building. Derek’s not home.

He goes out to the preserve next.

The long winding track up to the house is overgrown making for a bumpy ride - the Jeep’s suspension is not what it used to be. As the old Hale house peeks out though the trees, Stiles spots the Camaro. He pulls in alongside and slips off his seatbelt.

The squeak and slam of the Jeep’s door are loud in the hush that has settled over the clearing. A chill breeze has picked up, tugging at the hood of Stiles’ jacket. He leans against his car and pulls his hood over his head, tucking his fingers into his pockets when he’s done.

“Derek?”

The breeze rustling though the trees is Stiles’ only answer.

Cautiously he makes his way up towards the porch. There are building materials leaning against the front wall but Stiles can’t hear anything from within the house. He lets himself inside. It’s been a while since he visited, and he can see the work Derek has put into the place. None of the windows have any glass in them but the staircase to the second level has been repaired and there are no holes in the roof.

“Derek?” He tries again, peaking through the rooms of the first floor.

Stiles makes his way back outside – despite Derek’s efforts the Hale house still creeps him out – and takes a seat on the front steps. Derek will have to come back for his car eventually.

The sun sets behind the tree line as he waits. Casting the little clearing in front of the house in shadows that stretch out like grasping fingers. Stiles shivers and pulls his jacket tighter around his frame. It gets dark enough that Stiles can no longer see the trees. With a sigh he stands, stretching out the muscles that have gone stiff as he sat in the cold and climbs back into the Jeep.

He starts the car and cranks the heat as high as it goes, hesitating a few more moments before putting it in gear. He decides he’ll try again tomorrow.

He doesn’t get the chance.

The pixies rear their ugly little heads again when Scott and Kira stumble upon their nest. This time Scott is their unfortunate victim and while the pranks start off hilarious, they get more outrageous and then just full on dangerous until Stiles and Lydia put together a plan to win the pixies over, mostly with food and trinkets.

By the time that is sorted, two weeks have passed, and Stiles has seen Derek maybe twice from a distance. He resolves to invite himself back over to the loft when he gets a message from Derek saying Pack night is back on at his place and Stiles wonders once more if maybe he was reading just a little too much into Derek’s absence.

After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he went off grid with no explanation. And Derek had never been particularly forthcoming with his words. So, Stiles decides to wait until they get together at the loft. At least he knows the werewolf will be there.

He turns up early, again. And Derek acts grumpy at first but by the time the others arrive he’s his usual self. He’s quiet but laughs when Kira teases Scott and he chats to Lydia about something she found in the bestiary.

Stiles watches him carefully all night, but nothing seems out of the ordinary and again he starts to doubt himself. Everyone has the occasional off day. Maybe even the occasional off week.

Derek shifts and his eyes flick to Stiles. Stiles quickly looks away, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and focuses on the movie but his attention is still elsewhere.

Every now and then he glances across. Each time he meets Derek’s gaze and flushes, so he forces himself to keep his eyes trained on the TV until the end credits roll and he can’t remember a single plot point from the show.

Everything goes back to normal.


	2. Chapter 2

_Everything goes back to normal._

_~~_

Stiles isn’t sure things were ever really _not_ normal, but life goes on. He gets caught up in the whirlwind that is the end of senior year.

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles doesn’t look up from where he’s draped across the couch. He’s got his computer open on the coffee table, but he’s not looking at it. Similarly, the TV is playing a movie but rather than watching Stiles is lying on his back, tossing a pen into the air over and over. One foot is tapping rhythmically against the arm of the chair.

“Dad’s on nightshift,” he says by way of explanation, pulling out one earbud when Derek steps closer. “He said I was listening to music too loud and kicked me out of the house so he could sleep.”

“So? Use headphones.”

“I _was_ using headphones. Dad said it wasn’t the music that was the issue.” Stiles sits up so that he’s facing Derek. He’s no longer throwing the pen; he’s now using it to tap a beat out on the coffee table.

“Go to Scott’s then.”

Stiles scoffs. “Like I’ll get any homework done at Scott’s.” His foot taps bass to accompany his ballpoint snare.

“You’re not doing any work now,” Derek points out.

Stiles twirls his makeshift drumstick between his fingers. “I stopped for lunch.”

“It’s three-thirty in the afternoon.”

“It is?” Stiles fumbles and drops his pen. He retrieves his phone from his pocket to check the time. “Definitely time to stop for lunch then.” He thumbs opens one of the food delivery apps on his phone and scrolls through the options. “What are you thinking? I could go some Thai.”

“Stiles,” Derek growls, “Why are you here?”

“Homework,” Stiles hands over his phone so Derek can pick something to eat. “I’ve got an assignment due for Chem tomorrow plus an essay on Tuesday and Scott’s hanging out with Kira and Lydia finished her assignment weeks ago.”

Derek releases a long-suffering sigh. “So, I was your last resort.”

“Don’t even.” Stiles refuses to rise to the bait. “I knew you’d probably be out, and I just needed to find a place where I could focus for a bit and get it done.” Stiles gets his phone back and checks the screen, realising that Derek has already confirmed and paid for the order. “Hey! This was going to be my treat.”

“You can get the next one.”

“You always say that,” Stiles huffs, tucking his phone away. “It was supposed to be an apology for being so annoying.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek sits on the edge of the couch.

“It was ages ago now,” Stiles says. “You stormed out of the house and you cancelled the pack meeting and _then_ you disappeared for like two weeks! I figured I must have done something.”

Derek brows draw together as he remembers. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why were you acting so… weird?“

Now Derek huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I wasn’t.”

“You totally were. Look, it’s fine,” Stiles shrugs, “everyone has an off day sometimes. Just, don’t disappear on us again, okay?”

Derek looks like he’s about to argue, but he pauses, shakes his head and says, “I’ll try not to.”

“Good.”

Stiles turns back to his computer to finish up his assignment. Derek perches on the edge of the couch for a moment longer watching him work with a weirdly intense expression, then gets up to shower and change before their food arrives.

~~

The last few weeks of high school disappear in the blink of an eye.

To celebrate graduation, the pack gathers at the McCall house for a barbecue. It’s a beautiful day and Stiles finds an ancient water pistol in the back of the shed. “Oh Scotty!” He calls out once it’s filled. He charges up the SuperSoaker and launches an attack, but he’s no match against werewolf reflexes when Scott retaliates, holding the human down so he can spray water in Stiles’ face.

Lydia and Erica are both lying on towels well out of the path of destruction, but Kira calls out cheerful encouragement to Scott.

“When did we get so many kids?” Melissa asks. She sets down her wine glass on the edge of the barbecue. “I feel like every time I blink there are more of them.”

“At least yours are hanging around,” John flips another burger. “Mine’s leaving for the other side of the country soon.”

Across the yard, Stiles manages to slip away from Scott and runs to Derek, who is standing with Boyd and Isaac, plastering his dripping wet body across the older werewolf’s back.

“Don’t even think about it,” Derek growls, pushing the boy away.

Melissa pats John on the shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

John plates up the meat and calls out to the rest of the pack. They all spread out in the sun and talk about what they’re going to do now that school is over.

Kira wants to do something as a group before they all head their separate ways like go on a trip. Scott immediately agrees because he would agree to anything Kira suggested. 

As they eat Derek becomes more and more sullen. Barely touching his food or engaging in conversation.

“What are you going to do Derek,” John asks, “when you no longer have to put up with these miscreants?”

Derek just shrugs, picking at his food.

“Hey,” Stiles nudges him with his foot. “You should totally come visit me. We could do a road trip down to New York, oh,” his eyes light up. “Or up to Canada.”

The tension across Derek’s shoulders eases ever so slightly.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says and takes a bite of his burger.

After lunch John volunteers Stiles for clean-up duty. He grumbles and groans about it and eventually gets up to collect everyone’s plates.

“Scotty, come help me,” he whines.

“You’ve got this bro, I believe in you.” Scott doesn’t budge from his position in the grass, his head pillowed on Kira’s lap. 

“Some Alpha you are,” Stiles grumbles. “Isaac?” He turns to the blonde werewolf sitting between Lydia and Boyd. “A little help for your old pal Stiles?”

“I’m very busy right now,” Isaac says.

“Just know, you’re all dead to me now and you get none of the pie that I slaved over _all_ morning.”

“Stiles, you bought it from the bakery down-town,” Lydia retorts.

“Yeah, but there were a lot of good-looking pies.” Stiles says. “And I had to pick one. It was hard work.” He waits for someone to give him a hand.

“Fiiine,” Erica stands and brushes grass off her skirt. “But only ‘cos I saw the pie before and lemon meringue is my favourite.”

“You’re _my_ favourite,” Stiles tells her. “You can have all the pie you want. The rest of you…” He glares at each of his friends in turn. “Dead.”

They head into the kitchen and Stiles starts scraping off plates while Erica pulls the box from the fridge.

“So,” Erica sets the pie down and hops up on the counter to watch Stiles clean up. “How’s it going?”

Stiles narrows his eyes, not at all trusting her tone. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Oh, I am helping you…” Erica examines her blood red nails. “With your disastrous love life.”

“My love life is not-“ With a glance towards the back door Stiles lowers his voice. “My love life is _not_ disastrous.” He puts the plate he’s holding in the dishwasher. “And it doesn’t need any help.”

“Oh please, Stilinski.” Erica grins wide. “So how is what’s-his-name?”

“Sam,” Stiles mutters, “and we decided it wasn’t going to work.”

“Because you’re hung up-“

“I’m not.”

“- on D-“

Out in the backyard someone roars - the volume of it rattles the windows.

“What the…? Stiles rushes outside. “What’s going on?”

Scott and Derek stand face to face, snarling and circling one another. Derek backs down, eyes flashing. “I’m out of here,” he growls and storms off.

Stiles watches him go with an open mouth.

“What the hell happened?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t know.” Scott lets the red bleed out of his eyes. “He just… kinda lost it. All I said was it sucked that you were going so far away.”

“That’s all you said?”

“I swear.”

“He’s been acting a bit odd all day.” Lydia says.

“He’s been acting odd for weeks,” Stiles argues.

“I mean, that’s kinda is just how he is,” Erica points out, exiting the house with the pie balanced in one hand and plates in the other. “He’ll sulk for a bit and then get over it.”

“No,” Stiles says. “Something is wrong.” He doesn’t know how to explain how he knows. He can just feel it, like a cold weight in the pit of his stomach that is starting to spread throughout his entire body. It shrivels up any appetite he had for desserts.

~~

Derek’s attitude doesn’t improve.

The rest of the pack begins to accept that something might be going on and Stiles wants to rub it in their faces. He was right all along! But he doesn’t. He’s worried. Really worried.

Derek is snappy - yelling over the smallest things, like Scott tipping a glass of water over the coffee table. He and Scott get into a heated argument over it, Derek’s bad mood transferring to the normally easy-going Alpha.

For a split-second Derek loses control; wolfing out and lunging at Scott.

“Woah!” Stiles dodges out of the way, rolling to his feet. “What the hell?”

Instantly, Derek’s features smooth out again. The blue bleeds out of his eyes until they’re back to his natural shade of green and he stares.

The pack stares back.

Derek takes a step back.

“Get out.”

Stiles takes a tentative step forward.

“Get out!” Derek roars and yellow eyes flash around the room. Scott stands his ground, red eyes flashing but Derek doesn’t back down.

Lydia is the first to stand and gather her things. She levels Derek with a glare of her own and pivots, leading the way out of the loft. Erica and Boyd follow, then the rest of the betas until just Stiles and Scott are left. Stiles watches them all leave and wonders why no one bothered to speak up. They’re pack, they’re supposed to support each other.

He nods to Scott saying, “I’ll be out in a minute,” and the Alpha makes his way out of the room without putting up even a hint of a fight.

“Please Stiles,” Derek won’t make eye contact with him. “I don’t- I’m not in control right now. Please go.”

“All the more reason to stay,” Stiles reasons. “We need to figure out what’s going on.” He takes a step towards Derek, but the werewolf immediately moves away from him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Stiles sounds confident, but his hands shake.

“Go home Stiles.”

Derek thinks the human might argue again, instead, Stiles’ shoulders drop and he snatches up his bag.

“You know where to find me,” Stiles says, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what you promised me. Don’t disappear on us again.”

Stiles goes home and falls straight down the Wikipedia rabbit hole. There are so many possible reasons for the mood swings and the changes in temperament both of the super- and non-supernatural variety, and for Derek to lose control of his shift like that? Nothing makes sense.

A knock on his bedroom door startles Stiles back into reality.

“Hey kid, what’s up?” His dad waves towards the computer and the mess of notes across Stiles’ desk.

“Oh, you know, just the usual.” Stiles swings his chair around. “I can’t figure out what’s going on with Derek. Is he just pissed we’re all leaving soon? Scott isn’t even really going anywhere. He’s going to university three hours away! And Isaac is taking a year off.”

Stiles drags a hand through his hair and looks to his dad. “Is it selfish to hope he’s just in a bad mood?” He asks. “It’s just, things have been so good lately. The whole pack’s been getting along and it feels like Beacon Hills has been quieter.

“I was actually looking forward to going to college. Not because I wanted to get out and have a normal life, I mean, I do want that, but it felt like I could. Like I could leave this place without worrying that everyone would be safe. And now I don’t know.” Stiles looks up at his dad. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

John sits down on the end of Stiles’ bed. “You’re a smart kid Stiles,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Maybe this is something that Derek needs to work through. Even if you can’t fix this Stiles. You’re a good kid and a good friend. So, you’ll support Derek through whatever he is going through.”

“Thanks Dad.”

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

That feeling sits with Stiles for days. He has trouble sleeping, his normal nightmares morphing into something new – a dark shadow with glowing blue eyes tearing everyone he loves to pieces. The lack of sleep and racing thoughts have Stiles feeling constantly on edge.

Every time he feels like he can finally take a breath again, his heartrate will kick up a notch until it feels like he can’t catch his breath. He’s supposed to be enjoying his last few weeks of freedom before heading off to university, but all he feels is dread.

He is in line for the checkouts when it hits next. Like a cold shiver down his spine and a weighted sense of being watched. The cashier says something Stiles doesn’t quite catch as he’s fumbling to put his change in his wallet 

Stiles is wary as he packs the car, angled so he can see the carpark while he loads the groceries into the Jeep. He shoves the shopping cart in the vague direction of the return bay and tries to keep his heart rate and breathing under control until he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

He can’t keep his eyes from drifting up towards the rear-view mirror as he drives. It’s mid-morning on a weekday and the streets around his house are relatively empty, still Stiles can’t shake the feeling he’s being followed. He unlocks his phone without taking his eyes off the road, bringing it up to his ear and waiting for the line to connect.

“Hey man.” Scott’s cheerful voice rings out through the speaker. “What’s up?” Stiles can hear another voice in the background, probably Kira.

“Hey, any chance you can come over to mine?” Stiles asks. The unease inside him is growing. Something bad is going to happen. He can feel it. Maybe he should have called Lydia instead. Her Banshee intuition is usually pretty spot on with these things.

“Uh, I’m over at Kira’s,” Scott replies. “Can it wait?”

“Not really,” Stiles pulls up in his driveway. “I think something’s-“

Just as suddenly as it arrived, it’s gone. The weird sensation in the back of his mind has disappeared like it was never even there.

“Yo, Earth to Stiles? You still there? Stiles!”

“What?” Stiles shakes himself out of it. “Sorry. Hey, look, don’t worry about it.” He gets out of the car slowly, checking his surroundings but nothing seems off.

“Are you sure?”

Stiles can hear Scott mumbling something to Kira.

“Yeah, sorry. I just- never mind.”

“Okay,” Scott draws out the word. “Look, how ‘bout I come over tonight. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages.”

“It’s been two days,” Stiles laughs. “Getting those Stilinski withdrawals, huh buddy?”

“You called me, bro. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, fine, you and Kira have fun.” Stiles ends the call, shoves his phone in his pocket and starts the task of carrying the groceries inside. It takes three trips and each time Stiles pauses at the top step of the porch and gazes out into the street. On the final trip to the car he tells himself he’s being ridiculous, that he’s just feeling spooked because of what’s going on with Derek.

Once he’s finished, Stiles pulls his phone back out and notices the notification light is flashing.

_Missed call: Derek Hale_

Frowning, Stiles quickly hits redial.

It’s answered almost immediately.

“Stiles?”

“Hey Derek, sorry I missed your call. What’s up?” Stiles hops up onto the counter, legs swinging back and forth. There’s no response from the other end. “Derek?”

“Can you come over?”

“Sure.” The conversation is very similar from the one he just had with Scott and Stiles is immediately on edge again. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay?” The line disconnects. “That would be great Stiles, thanks,” he mumbles to himself hopping down from the counter. “No worries Derek.” Stiles makes sure he’s locked the front door and heads back down to the Jeep.

Stiles lets himself into the loft when he gets there. Derek is pacing the across the large open space. His head jerks up when Stiles enters, and then he’s on the human, pushing him up against the wall.

“Uh, are you scenting me right now?” Stiles stands stock still when Derek growls against his neck. “Yup, okay, not moving.” He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as Derek drags his hand down the side of his face, nose still buried in the crook of Stiles neck.

After a few moments Derek stills, then pushes himself away from Stiles, stumbling back into the center of the room.

“Shit,” he croaks. “I’m sorry. I-“

Stiles hand comes up to rub where Derek’s face had just been. “So,” he can feel himself blushing. “Scent marking. That’s new.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek takes a half-step forward then halts. “I-“ He sags against one of the support beams like all his strings have been cut. “I don’t know what’s happening. I keep losing control and you came in and you just- shit.” He’s staring at his hands, retracting the claws that had sprung out as he spoke. “It’s better when you’re here,” he mumbles.

“Hey. _Hey!”_ Stiles is quick to rush over and kneel in front of Derek. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” He climbs back to his feet and holds out his hand.

Derek allows himself to be pulled up. “Okay.”

Stiles doesn’t have his computer on him, and Derek seems reluctant to talk, so they stand there awkwardly until Stiles turns on the TV and drags Derek down to sit on the couch. Stiles puts on a random movie to try and ease the tension in the room.

Stiles kicks off his shoes and pulls his feet up onto the couch to curl up under him.

Derek slowly relaxes beside him. “Why are we watching cartoons?”

“Cartoons?” Stiles scoffs. “Excuse you, but How to Train Your Dragon is an animated masterpiece! It’s about friendship and family and Hiccup is way hotter than any animated character has any right to be.”

“Uh huh,” Derek raises an eyebrow and props his feet up on the coffee table. “Right.” He doesn’t speak again until the credits begin to roll. “Thanks.”

Stiles yawns and stretches. “For what?”

“For this. For coming over. It’s like my head’s clear for the first time in days.”

“That’s not normally a compliment I receive,” Stiles jokes. “Normally I’m the one being blamed for confusing people.” He lets Derek’s playful shove knock him back against the couch, before straightening. “But you’re welcome.”

Now that he’s no longer focused on the movie, Stiles realises that the room has grown dark.

“I should head off,” he groans, checking his phone. His dad would be home by now, wondering where Stiles was.

“Stay.”

Stiles glances sharply across at Derek.

“Can you? This is the first time I’ve felt like myself in days. It’s you. I know it’s you. I don’t know why.”

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek look so vulnerable. At least not since the shitshow that went down with the Argent’s just after Scott was turned.

“Of course,” he pulls out his phone to shoot his dad a text, _At Scott’s. Home tomorrow._ “Take out is on you though.” Stiles’ phone chirps and he glances at the message from his Dad.

_Scott’s here._

“Shit.” Stiles winces. He’d completely forgotten that he’d asked Scott to come over.

 _Okay... I’m at Derek’s._ He waits for his dad’s response.

 _We need to have a chat son?_ And oh god, who taught his dad to use emoticons? Stiles ignores Derek’s curious expression, fingers flying over the keyboard.

 _Dad! No._ Stiles erases the next sentence twice, then writes, _Derek’s not in a great place right now. I’m sorry I lied. I’ll be home tomorrow._

It takes a while for the response to come back.

_Stay safe. Love you._

Stile lets out a sigh and turns back to Derek. “So, Indian?” A moment later his phone chirps again. “Oh, come on Dad!” It’s not his Dad, it’s Scott.

_DUUUUUUUUUUDE!_

Stiles throws his phone onto the coffee table.

When dinner arrives, they pick another movie to watch - Stiles votes for the next dragon movie, but Derek shoots him down in favour of The Incredibles.

Before it even starts, Stiles takes advantage of his good mood to start interrogating him.

“Have you been anywhere different? Eaten anything different?” Stiles eyes Derek’s curry suspiciously. “Maybe you ate something that’s bad for werewolves. Like, I dunno, how dogs can’t eat chocolate.”

“I’m not a dog Stiles,” Derek tells him.

“Maybe you’re rabid.” Stiles decides the food can’t be that bad, he’s already eaten most of it. He steals one of Derek’s dumplings.

“That joke is never going to be funny.” Derek pulls his bowl away from Stiles’ reach. “If you’re not going to take this seriously-“

“Oh, I am being completely serious Derek.” The words are mumbled around a mouthful of cottage cheese. “And the way you looked, eyes blue, crazy sideburns; kinda rabid.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but you Derek Hale are not scary. I _know_ you’re marshmallow fluff on the inside. I’ve seen you around kids.” The Sheriff had roped Derek into helping out at the last Beacon County emergency services fundraiser. “Yeah, it’s a bit freaky that you were acting all weird,” Stiles goes on, choosing his words carefully. “But I was more… scared for you… than of you.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at the bowl in his hands. “I- thanks.”

“Yeah, you already said that.” Stiles grins and knocks his foot against Derek’s on the coffee table. “Don’t worry, you’ll only owe me forever for this.”

“I know.” The words are soft, barely discernible over the sound of the movie blasting from the television.

“That was a joke.” Stiles turns in his seat to look at the werewolf, at the way his shoulders are hunched like he wants to curl in on himself. “Dammit Derek. You don’t owe me anything.” He leaves no room for disagreement. “You’ve saved _my_ life more times than I can count. This is what we do for each other. I’ve got you this time, and next time you get me. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek seems to sit a little straighter. “So, what else could it be then?”

Stiles thinks back to earlier that day.

“It’s magic,” he sets his bowl down on the coffee table. “It has to be. You’re a born wolf. And you were an Alpha. It’s gotta take magic to make you lose control like that. But how? And why? What’s there to gain from doing this?”

Derek is deep in thought. “Our pack is small,” he says after a moment. “But stable, and strong.”

“Okay, maybe someone wants to mess with the pack? Bring it down or take the territory?” Stiles suggests.

“This land has been Hale territory for generations. It’s good land, but we- I mean, my mom, was never challenged over it.” Derek picks at his food. “Though we were bigger back then.”

“Yeah, but why now?” Stiles asks. “Why not when you and Laura were in New York. There was no one here to protect the territory.”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not Alpha anymore. Maybe that’s it.”

“And why magic? The wolves we’ve met before generally don’t like to get involved with magic. They all seem to prefer the-“ Stiles curls his fingers into claws, “-grrr, slashy, maim-y method.”

With a resigned sigh, Derek sinks back against the couch. “Maybe it’s not magic. Maybe it is just me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. C’mon Derek, I’m supposed to be the idiotic one here.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re-“

“Wait,” Stiles cuts him off, scrambling for his phone. “Can you just- Hang on, just turning on the camera. Can you repeat that for me?” He holds out his phone, waving it in Derek’s face.

“Repeat what?” Derek feigns ignorance and bats at the phone.

“I’m not an idiot.” Stiles prompts.

“I’m not an idiot.” Derek parrots back, lips curving up into a smirk.

Stiles lets his hand drop. “You know what I meant,” He scowls. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m pretty funny.”

“You’re not.” Stiles flips his phone in his fingers, a small smile tugs on the corner of his lips. “Better?”

Derek’s brows knit in confusion for a moment before his expression evens out. “Yeah… thanks.”

Now it’s Stiles’ turn to shrug. “I meant what I said before. I’ve got you.” He feels his face flush and turns towards the blank TV screen, so he doesn’t have to see Derek’s expression. It’s a mistake. He can clearly see both their reflections mirrored in the shiny glass.

Stiles clears his throat and pushes up from the couch.

“We should watch another movie.” The words tumble out of him. “You can pick again. I’ll clean this up.” He reaches for their dishes, gathering them up and hurrying into the kitchen where he takes his time stacking the dishwasher and tossing their used containers.

He waits until the first strains of music from the movie opening drift into the kitchen then returns to the living area. Stiles tries not to notice the way their thighs press together on the couch. How had he never noticed how small it was before? He tries to relax back against the cushions, and somehow, despite the tension in his body, he manages to fall asleep not long after the movie starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come find me on Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/)
> 
> :)


	3. Chapter 3

When Stiles wakes up the next morning he’s alone on the couch. There’s a blanket over him that wasn’t there when he fell asleep. Stiles pulls it around himself tighter and ducks his head underneath. It’s fleecy and soft and almost cosy on the too-short couch.

He lets his eyes drift shut. It’s still early and the tug of sleep is strong, like a current trying to drag him down. He can’t hear Derek moving around upstairs yet, but he can’t go back to sleep with his bladder screaming at him.

Reluctantly, Stiles sits up and stretches until his spine pops. He wraps the blanket around himself like a cloak as he stumbles to the bathroom and when he returns Derek is up and rummaging around in the kitchen.

“Aren’t you cold?” Stiles gestures towards Derek’s outfit – a pair of low-slung sweatpants – and hugs his blanket closer.

“It’s May,” Derek turns on the electric kettle.

“Your point? This whole building basically only has two temperature settings. Burning hellfire and Arctic wasteland. It’s freezing in here dude.” Stiles picks up his phone on the way past the couch, grimacing at the time displayed on the screen. It is way too early for any sane person to be up.

The battery icon flashes, and he waves the device at Derek. “Can I plug this in?”

Derek gestures to the charger plugged into the wall and sets about making coffee. Stiles slumps down on one of the bar stools at the counter to watch and makes grabby hands at the mug Derek pushes towards him.

“So, I need to head home for a bit,” Stiles says after his first sip. “If we’re going to figure this out, we’re going to need some help, plus my laptop and all my notes are at my house.”

Derek nods. “We should also get the pack together,” he suggests. “Maybe we can come up with some more ideas for what this is.” He gestures to himself as he says it, and Stiles can’t help the way his eyes drift down to follow the hand wave or the way they linger on Derek’s broad chest before he pulls himself together.

“Sure, I’ll ask Lydia if her Spidey-senses have tingled lately, maybe I’ll swing by-” he waggles his eyebrows “-and talk to Mr A. He might have dealt with something like this before.” Stiles drains his mug and sets it down on the bench before retrieving his phone. The battery is still low, but it’ll get him home.

“You know Lydia hates when you say that.” Derek places their empty mugs in the sink to wash later.

“Says what?” Stiles grins. “Lydia’s not here and last I checked there were no snitches here either.” He folds up the blanket he’d been wearing and goes searching for his shoes. “You’ll be okay for a few hours?” He calls from the couch, tugging on his sneakers.

“I feel fine,” Derek assures him. “I’ll call you if anything changes, okay?”

“If you feel at all wolfy-“

“Stiles.”

“You know, howling, scratching fleas, tearing people to shreds-“

“I’m going to tear _you_ to shreds if you don’t hurry up and go.”

“I’m going. I’m going.” Stiles raises his hands. “I’ll be back soon,” he hurries to the door, but pauses right in the entrance to turn and point at Derek, a stupid grin plastered on his face. “Stay.”

~~

As soon as he gets home Stiles hops in the shower. It’s still early. His dad isn’t even up for work yet, so Stiles takes his time under the hot water. 

He dresses quickly once he’s done, heading across to his room to grab a bag, his phone charger and his laptop and take them downstairs. He leaves his things on the kitchen bench and pops a couple of pieces of toast in the toaster. By the time they pop back up, his dad is down in the kitchen and Stiles is on his second cup of coffee for the day.

“Before you ask,” Stiles blurts before his dad has the chance to open his mouth, “nothing happened. Okay? We talked about what’s been happening and came up with a few theories and I slept on the couch.”

John takes his time answering, stirring coffee and cream for much longer than necessary.

“First,” he taps the spoon against the side of the mug then drops it into the sink. “I wasn’t going to ask. You’re an adult capable of making your own decisions, and honestly? You could do a lot worse than Derek Hale. Second,” John ignores his son’s mortified groan, “why? Did you want something to happen?”

“What? No. Maybe? I don’t know Dad. Can we… can we not do this right now?” Stiles is slathering butter over his toast with a single-minded concentration and refusing to look at his dad.

“You’re worried about him.”

Stiles sets down the knife. “Yeah,” he sighs out. “He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly losing control like this. I think he’s scared Dad.”

John’s expression shifts. It’s his cop face. Stiles hates it.

“Should _I_ be worried about him?” John asks. “If he’s losing control? Is it safe for you to be around him? Is it safe for anyone?”

“I think I’m safe.”

“You think? Stiles that isn’t a good enough answer for me.”

“I _am_ safe.” Stiles clarifies. “I dunno. He seems like his normal self around me. Like I ground him or something. I don’t think I’m in any danger. Not with Derek.”

“I trust you Stiles.” John glances at the time. “I’ve got to go to work. Please stay safe. I’ll call you later okay?”

Stiles nods and gives his Dad a quick hug before he leaves.

He takes his time finishing his breakfast. The house is quiet, but the silence is soon shattered by the shrill ring of his phone. He swipes across the screen to answer the call.

“Hey Scott. Sorry about yesterday, something came up and I-“

“Where are you?” Scott sounds panicked, even though the tinny speaker.

“Uh, at my house.” Stiles dumps his plate into the sink. “What’s-“

“You’re not at the loft?”

“Um, no.” Other sounds are filtering in through the phone’s speaker. “Scott? What’s going on?” There’s a crash in the background. “Scott?”

Scott sounds breathless when he finally speaks again. “Stay there Stiles, do you understand me?”

Stiles can hear growling now. Scott’s and someone else’s.

“Where are you Scott? Are you at the loft?” Stiles stands in the middle of his kitchen waiting agonising seconds for a response. “Scott? I’m coming over!”

“No. Stay there Stiles. It’s not safe. Derek’s-“

That’s all Stiles needs to hear. He races for the front door; a jar of mountain ash and his trusty baseball bat sit just inside the entrance. Stiles snatches them both and runs for his Jeep. He makes the drive across town in record time, thanking whatever and whoever might be up there that none of his father’s deputies pull him over.

The sound of breaking glass and a roar echo down into the little carpark outside the out-dated building. Stiles takes a second to snatch up a handful of mountain ash and his bat before scrambling out of his car. Once inside, he takes the stairs. It’s faster than waiting for the ancient lift. He bursts through the door and tosses the ash in his hand, eyes squeezed shut as he mutters. “Comeoncomeoncomeon.”

“I told you to stay at home!”

Stiles opens his eyes and faces Scott. “And what? Let you two just battle it out?”

“Yes! And did you really have to trap _me_ in here?” Scott gestures down at the black ash now circling his feet. There’s an identical circle around Derek a few feet away.

“Sorry,” Stiles uses the bat to draw a line through the ash, breaking the barrier and freeing his friend. “I’m still not really sure how this all works.”

Derek snarls from where he’s trapped.

“Hey, Derek. You gotta get it under control man.” Stiles shuffles towards him. “Come on. Look at me. I’m right here.” He gets closer. “Breath with me. Come on, you’ve got this.” He watches Derek’s features shift. “There we go,” Stiles mumbles. “Show me those pretty green eyes.”

The werewolf’s face smooths out, fur fades back to skin and the blue slowly bleeds out of Derek’s eyes.

“Just call me the werewolf-whisperer,” Stiles crows, face breaking into a huge grin.

“What was that about my eyes?” Derek asks just as Scott calls out “Dude! That was awesome! How did you do that?”

Derek scowls.

“Hey, none of that,” Stiles warns, bopping Derek on the nose with his finger. “If I let you out, will you be good?”

“Stiles.” Scott hovers behind his friend, anxiety bleeding though in his tone.

Derek nods. “I just need to…” he trails off. Stiles breaks the mountain ash barrier and lets Derek step up to him.

“I was barely gone two hours,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s neck as the werewolf scents him. He can feel Derek’s hot breath against his skin.

“It started as soon as you left.” Derek takes one last calming breath and steps back out of Stiles’ space.

“You were supposed to call me,” Stiles scolds him.

“I thought I could handle it,” Derek says. “I _was_ handling it, then Scott showed up and I just lost control completely.”

“What were you doing here?” Stiles turns to his friend.

Scott immediately goes on the defensive. “I was looking for you!”

Stiles wipes his hand against his jeans to clear off any of the remaining ash. “Why doesn’t anybody use their phones? This is what phones are _for_!” His gaze shifts from Scott to Derek. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He points at Scott with the bat. “You are going to gather the others. I don’t care what they’re doing, this takes priority. You,” Stiles turns on Derek. “You cannot be left on your own. Pack a bag, you can stay at my house while we figure this out.”

“Why can’t you stay here?” Derek demands.

“Yeah, ‘cos that will totally convince my Dad that we’re not sleeping together,” Stiles mutters under his breath ignoring Scott’s smothered laugh and the heat in his cheeks. At least Derek is blushing too, they can be mortified by the Sheriff together. “None of my stuff is here,” Stiles points out. “And your couch is the literal worst to sleep on. I have a spare room with an actual bed. You’re staying at my place.” He sends Derek off to pack and waits with Scott.

“Stiles, are you sure it’s safe?” Scott asks, keeping his voice low as if that’s enough to keep Derek from overhearing.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the _only_ person who’s safe around him right now,” Stiles says. “What else are we going to do? We can’t leave him on his own.”

“Maybe the mountain ash…” Scott is eyeing the mess on the floor.

Stiles physically recoils. “What? No! Scott, I’m not going to trap him like some animal!” The very idea makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“What if he gets worse?” Scott asks. “What if even you can’t calm him down? What then?”

Stiles doesn’t want to think about it. “It’s not going to get to that,” he says. “We’ll figure this out Scotty. We have to.”

Derek returns and Stiles snatches on to the opportunity to leave that conversation behind. He steers everyone downstairs towards his car.

Scott arrived at the loft on his bike, so Stiles leaves him to his task of collecting the rest of the pack and ushers Derek into the Jeep. It’s a tense ride back to the Stilinski house. Stiles does his best to fill the awkward silence with random chatter, but the most he can get out of Derek are grunted one word responses.

It’s a relief to arrive back at the house. Stiles parks in the driveway and digs his phone out of his pocket to shoot off a text message.

“Dad won’t be back until tonight,” he explains, leading the way inside. “But I sent him a text about what’s going on, and Scott should be back soon. Hopefully with reinforcements.” Stiles shows Derek to the guest room. It’s on the second floor, next to Stiles’ room and across from the Sheriff’s. “You can drop your stuff in here.”

They head back downstairs. Stiles’ laptop is still sitting on the kitchen bench and his phone is just about dead. He plugs it in in the loungeroom and settles on the couch with his computer, waiting for it to boot up.

“So, I’m thinking we could start with the bestiary, see if there’s a creature in there that could do this.” Stiles opens up the hidden folder. “Lydia and I have been working on annotating it, but we haven’t made it the whole way through. There’s just still so many things we haven’t seen yet.”

“You annotated the bestiary?”

“Of course I did!” Stiles turns the screen towards Derek so he can see the notes. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

They sit together on the couch, scrolling through pages and pages of notes. As they work, the rest of the pack begins to trickle in. First Lydia - she has her own copy of the bestiary - then Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Kira and Scott. Malia is the last to turn up - she’s the only one without access to a car. Jackson is the only member missing, having gone overseas with his parents.

Stiles and Lydia are deep in conversation when someone suggests they pause for lunch. Stiles is explaining the weird feeling he’d had the day before and the sense that someone had been watching him. He doesn’t know if it’s even connected, but they add it to the list of possible theories. Stiles doesn’t even notice the food arrive until someone is shoving pizza at him.

He looks up to catch Derek’s amused expression and takes the plate that’s being offered to him.

“Okay, so where are we?” He asks around a mouthful of pizza.

“We’ve got absolutely nothing, and Derek is doomed,” Isaac drawls from his spot on the floor. Erica reaches across to punch him in the shoulder.

“Loving the optimism,” Stiles bites out. “C’mon guys, there has to be something.” He finishes his first slice of pizza and holds out his plate for another.

“I called Deaton,” Scott tells them, “it went straight to voicemail, but I left a message with what’s been happening.”

“Okay,” Stiles scrubs a hand down his face. “Awesome. So, we just… keep searching through the bestiary until something catches our eye.” He looks to Lydia, “super.”

Erica is the first to offer to head into town. Stiles suspects she’s bored of sitting around. He doesn’t blame her. They’ve been at it for hours and have exactly zilch to show for it. He sends Boyd and Isaac off with her to scout around the supermarket where he’d had the feeling of being watched.

Scott and Kira are the next the leave and then Malia and Lydia, until finally it’s just Stiles and Derek and a pile of empty pizza boxes.

Stiles sets his computer aside to start cleaning up before his Dad gets home, then makes a start on dinner. Derek follows him into the kitchen and leans against the bench.

“This is going nowhere.”

“It’s been one day Derek.” Stiles fills a saucepan full of water from the tap and sets it on the stove to boil. “It might take some time before we figure this out.”

“And what if we can’t?” Derek asks.

“Why do people keep asking that?” Stiles complains. “And where is this pessimism coming from? I thought we got over the whole Sourwolf thing.” Stiles turns to the fridge. “Maybe we need to bring the nickname back.” He turns back to Derek. “Have a little faith in us. We’ve defeated much bigger creatures than a grumpy werewolf.”

Derek scowls. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Really big guy?” Stiles waves the knife he’d picked up to chop veggies.

“I’m scared.”

Stiles’ next words dry up in his throat. He’d said as much to his Dad, but it was another thing to hear it coming straight from Derek. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”

“I’m not worried about something happening to me Stiles, I’m worried about something happening to you.”

The front door shuts with a bang, and both Derek and Stiles jump. Stiles turns back to his food prep, ears and face burning.

“Evening boys,” John greets, tugging off his boots. “Smells good Stiles. I’ll get changed then help you set the table.”

~~

John’s in detective mode while they eat. He makes them go over the events of the last few weeks. He wants to know every detail of what happened, and Stiles is tired of explaining it over and over again. He’s tired in general. Turns out sleeping on an uncomfortable couch followed by a day of intense research is exhausting. It’s only nine pm when he decides to give up on the movie he’s only half watching and head to bed.

Derek follows him upstairs, splitting away to the guest room to get his things.

“You mind if I use the bathroom first?” Stiles calls out into the room. “I won’t be long.” He doesn’t wait for Derek’s response, just simply goes and brushes his teeth and uses the toilet before crossing back to his bedroom and shutting the door.

He can hear the water running while he changes his jeans for a pair of sweats. He doesn’t bother with changing his shirt, just shrugs out of the plaid button-up and climbs into bed. He reaches across to switch off the light and then rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He can hear Derek moving around in the bathroom and the soft echo of his father downstairs.

Stiles lets the exhaustion weighing down his eyes to wash over him completely and drift off to sleep.

He wakes with a gasp a short time later, scream dying in his throat.

“Stiles. Wake up.”

Derek stands over him, a dark silhouette in the in the dimly lit room. Stiles pushes himself upright and kicks back at the sheets that have tangled about his legs.

“Sorry,” he grimaces. “Bad dream.”

“I know.”

Stiles can’t see Derek’s face, but he can see the icy blue glow of his eyes. The werewolf’s shadow grows and spreads across the room like an oil slick until everything is coated in pitch black darkness. Not even the bright light from the streetlamp outside can penetrate the gloom.

“What are you doing?” Stiles scrambles for the light beside the bed as the shadow closes in on him. “Derek? You’re starting to scare me dude.” He flicks the switch, but nothing happens. The darkness is impenetrable.

Growling reverberates through the room, echoing off the walls and filling the space until Stiles can no longer work out the direction of the original sound.

“What the hell is going on?” John bursts into the room, gun drawn, searching for the intruder.

The dark shadows twist towards the Sheriff, finger-like tendrils reaching for his throat and suddenly Stiles can see everything.

“No!” He screams as the mouth opens wide, a gaping maw with rows and rows of blood stained teeth. _“NO!”_

The scream dies in his throat as Stiles gasps for breath, once again staring at the ceiling.

“Stiles. Wake up.”

The nightmare grips him tight, and Stiles flails against the warm hand on his shoulder. “No!” He gasps, heart pounding and shivering as the sweat dries on his forehead. The hand on his shoulder is quickly withdrawn as Derek steps away.

“’m sorry,” he wheezes as the remnants of the dream finally drift away in the flicker of light from a passing car. “I’m sorry.” He clutches at the sheets, twisting them in his hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he pants and works to control his breathing.

“You didn’t,” Derek swims into focus above him. “I couldn’t sleep. I heard you. Uh, your heart. Figured you were having a nightmare.”

Stiles lets out a long breath. “Thanks.” He can still feel his heart racing, but his breathing has calmed. He lets go of his white-knuckled grip on the bedclothes. “I’m okay now.” He’s lying and they both know it.

Stiles forces himself to settle back in bed. He stares at the window and the lamplight that is now casting a soft glow across his room, dimly registering the soft creak of the door closing when Derek pads quietly out of the room.

It takes him a long time to go back to sleep.

~~

The sun is streaming through his blinds when Stiles wakes again. They throw beams of light across his face and he curses silently for forgetting to shut them before he went to bed. He throws his arm up over his face and is just about to roll over when the light shifts and dims.

“What the?” Stiles opens his eyes and spots Derek sitting in the chair beside his desk, his hand still holding the cord that closed his blinds. “How long have you sitting there?” Stiles asks. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” He kicks away the covers and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I couldn’t get back to sleep.” Derek has Stiles’ laptop on the desk with the bestiary open on the screen. He’s leaning back in the desk chair feet kicked up to rest on the end of Stiles’ bed.

“So, you decided sit there and watch me like a creeper?” Stiles suppresses a shudder. It’s far too reminiscent of his nightmare.

“I wasn’t watching you,” Derek huffs. “I just felt… calmer in here. More in control.” He shuts the laptop gently. “I did some more research.”

“You should have woken me or something.” Stiles climbs to his feet and starts rummaging through his drawers for clean clothes.

“Figured at least one of us should get some rest,” Derek shrugs.

In that moment Stiles realises that he hadn’t had any more nightmares during the night after Derek had woken him. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had any nightmares the night before when he crashed at Derek’s place. That was two nights in a row he’d actually had a half decent night’s rest.

He doesn’t dwell on it, not with Derek right there in his room. Instead he goes across to the bathroom and takes a shower.

Derek is learning on the wall beside the bathroom door when he emerges.

“I was gone for less than fifteen minutes,” Stiles frowns. “Is it really that bad?”

“It’s getting worse, I think.” Derek leads the way downstairs. “I can feel my wolf constantly, just sitting under the surface. That shouldn’t be an issue,” he explains. “The wolf is a part of me, it’s who I am but now it feels like at any moment it could break through and take complete control.”

“And what if it does?” Stiles rounds the counter to start the coffee machine. “I’m not going to become puppy chow, am I?”

“You keep the wolf calm,” Derek explains haltingly. “Even if it does break through, it- I wouldn’t ever hurt you.”

“Says the guy who has slammed me into numerous surfaces. Like a locker, a steering wheel,” Stiles counts off on his fingers. “You have threatened me so many times.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t deserve it. Sixteen-year-old Stiles was a little shit.”

“Yeah, well twenty-year old Derek had no chill.” Stiles retorts. He pulls two mugs down from the cupboard. “Plus! You made a joke about tearing my throat out yesterday.”

“Yeah, a joke.”

Stiles scoffs. “Your sense of humour sucks.”

“Well, I learned from the best,” Derek stares pointedly at Stiles, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t sass me in my own house.” Stiles jabs at Derek’s chest in mock offense.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek replies.

They sit in the kitchen and eat breakfast. Afterwards, Stiles tries Deaton again, leaving another message on the druid’s answering machine, bitching to Derek that it’s just so fucking convenient that the druid disappears when they actually need him. Derek nods along and lets him vent which Stiles appreciates.

They spend the rest of the day researching and texting the rest of the pack. Erica, Boyd and Isaac found no sign of anything nefarious at the supermarket the day before. So, they’re going to try the loft today and sniff the building out for magic. Stiles isn’t ready to give up the theory that maybe Derek’s been cursed. It makes more sense than anything else he can come up with.

Stiles lies on the floor with his feet up on the couch, laptop sitting on his stomach. There’s a webpage open on the screen but none of the words are sticking as Stiles’ focus constantly drifts up to Derek who is bouncing his leg against the couch. Stiles forces his attention back to his computer and reads the same paragraph five times over trying to get the content to sink in.

“We need to get out of the house,” he says suddenly, slamming his computer closed. He levers himself up on his elbows to look over at Derek. “This is driving me crazy.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Derek’s foot goes still.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a great idea.” Stiles stands. “I can’t stare at my screen any longer and you can barely sit still. You need to go for a run or something.

Derek shakes his head, “Yeah, that’s a terrible idea.”

“We could go out to the preserve.” Stiles offers. “There would be no people out, maybe you’ll get some of this out of your system.”

“Fine,” Derek stands slowly and stretches. He knows Stiles is right. He feels… strange - like his skin doesn’t quite fit right. A run would do him good.

He goes upstairs to find his shoes and when he returns Stiles is waiting by the front door twirling his car keys around his index finger.

“Ready?”

Derek nods and they head out.

The Jeep bumps along the overgrown track to the old Hale house, suspension groaning with each pothole. Derek can already feel himself relaxing as they reach the clearing. It’s a nice afternoon; warm and sunny with a gentle cool breeze to keep it from getting too hot. Derek has the car door open and is stripping down before Stiles has finished parking.

Derek can feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he shifts.

“That will never not be weird,” Stiles tells the large black wolf standing before him. Derek just huffs and trots off. He doesn’t go far before he turns and races back, nudging and playfully nipping at Stiles’ ankles until the teenager picks up his pace.

“You were the one who needed to run,” Stiles complains as he jogs after Derek. “I was more than happy to stay camped out on the couch.” He slows back down to a walk, stopping to lean against a tree. “How about we play fetch,” he teases. “I’m sure we could find a big enough stick.” Derek sits and stares, even with a wolf face Stiles can see that he is not amused.

“Ugh, fine. No sticks.” Stiles pushes away from the tree, long arm reaching out to brush against Derek’s thick fur. “Tag!” He calls, racing off into the undergrowth with the wolf hot on his tail.

The sun is sinking behind the trees when Stiles lets himself collapse onto the leafy forest floor.

“I give up.” He groans. “You’re too damn fast.”

Derek flops down beside him, tongue lolling.

“You know, you could just let me win once,” Stiles grumbles. He hauls himself up into a sitting position, crossing his legs. “Not everyone has supernatural speed and reflexes. And maybe the ones who do, should cut the ones who don’t some slack.”

Orange light filters down through the leaves as the sun begins to set.

“We should probably head back.”

Even as he says the words, Stiles makes no move to get up.

It’s not until the sun sinks lower, and the air begins to cool that Stiles finally pushes to his feet. He looks around, studying the trees around them, then turns to Derek.

“I have no idea how to get back to the Jeep from here.”

~~

The next day passes in a similar fashion.

Stiles wakes from a nightmare-less sleep to discover that Derek has snuck into his room again.

It makes breakfast so, so awkward.

John’s gaze flicks from one boy to the other over the rim of his coffee mug. Stile suspects his father knows exactly where Derek spent the night. At least he hasn’t said anything embarrassing.

“So, you boys sleep well?”

“Don’t you have work?” Stiles asks, voice cracking despite several years of puberty under his belt.

“We’ve got time.” The Sheriff takes a long sip of his coffee, his gaze levelling on Derek. “I know the past few weeks have been difficult,” he says. “And I know you’re a good man. With a good heart.”

“Dad!” Stiles drops his head into his hands.

“And as much as I’d like to tell you what might happen if you hurt my son-“

“Please don’t.”

“I know that’s not really fair given how good Stiles is at getting into trouble.”

“I want to die.”

“Still, he’s my kid. So, we have to have this conversation.”

“We really don’t.” Stiles lifts his head from the table, eyes begging his Dad to stop. “Please go to work now.”

The Sheriff chuckles. “Really, this was more about making him uncomfortable than you, Derek. Payback’s a bitch son.”

“What have I done these last eighteen years but love and care for you?” Stiles whines.

“I’m your father Stiles. What parent doesn’t take the opportunity to embarrass their kid occasionally?”

“A good one.” Stiles glances across at Derek, wincing at the horrified expression on the other man’s face. “Who doesn’t traumatise their kid’s friends.”

“Sorry Derek,” a flash of guilt crosses John’s face.

“No, I understand Sir,” Derek doesn’t break eye contact with the Sheriff. “I would never do anything to hurt your son.”

“Good to hear.” John stands and moves to place his mug in the dishwasher. “I should head off. You boys have a great day.”

He heads towards the door, pausing only to collect his keys and the lunch Stiles had put together from the previous night’s leftovers.

For a while after he leaves there is only silence in the house. Stiles can’t bear to look at Derek after that mortifying experience.

Finally, Stiles can’t stand it anymore. He turns to Derek. “Want to head back to the Preserve?”

“I’ll put on my shoes.”

~~

“I’m sorry about my Dad.” Stiles babbles to fill the silence as the Jeep winds through town.

“It’s fine.”

“He just… I know he’s just looking out for me but-“

“You’re lucky.” Derek’s turned in his seat to face Stiles. “You have someone that really cares about you. Not everyone has that.”

“I know.”

They reach the preserve. Stiles sits in the Jeep while Derek strips and shifts outside. It’s warm with the sun streaming through the windscreen so Stiles shrugs out of his plaid overshirt before he scrambles out of the car.

Derek seems to take his movement as a sign and goes galloping off into the trees. Stiles follows at a much more leisurely pace. He crosses over into the tree line and a shiver slips down his spine.

Stiles stops.

He looks back towards the sunny clearing. His Jeep is the only thing there, but Stiles can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched again.

He turns slowly, listening intently to the sounds off the forest. It’s silent.

Deathly silent.

Derek can’t have gone that far. Stiles should still be able to hear him crashing through the brush, but he hears nothing - not even the call of a bird.

“Derek?” Stiles takes another step into the trees, calling out for the wolf. “Hey? Remember the conversation we had about supernatural speed?” He can’t help another look over his shoulder as he walks. “Derek?”

The silence presses in on him and his pace picks up to a jog, then a sprint. Stiles tries to convince himself he’s not running from something; he’s just trying to catch up to Derek.

The sense of foreboding grows stronger as Stiles ducks under a tree.

“Stop.”

Stiles skids to a halt.

“Don’t move.”

Stiles lifts his hands slowly, placatingly.

“I said _don’t move!_ ”

“Derek.” Stiles takes a half-step forward. “Hey, it’s just me.”

“Stay away Stiles,” Derek snarls. He‘s hunched over, fingers curled into claws but he’s not completely shifted into his beta form. His whole body trembles from the sheer force of keeping the transformation back.

Stiles is completely vulnerable. He has no weapons, no protection. He’d left his bat in the Jeep. If Derek attacks, there would be nothing Stiles could do to stop him.

“Listen to me Derek.” Voice low, Stiles edges closer. “Focus on my voice. Just my voice.” He takes another shuffling step.

“No.” It’s more growl than word. “Stiles,” Derek grits his teeth in effort. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he tries to keep the waver out of his voice. “I trust you.” Stiles hopes Derek can hear the truth in the wild pounding of his heart.

He edges closer, stealing another inch from the gap between them. He’s close enough he could reach out and touch the other man.

Derek’s head jerks up and he roars.

“GET AWAY!”

The force sends Stiles stumbling back. His foot catches on an exposed root and he tumbles backwards. As his back hits the ground, his head snaps back colliding with the hard-packed dirt.

For a moment all he can do is lie there, ears ringing, eyes screwed shut against the ache that pulses in time with his racing heart. A shadow falls over him.

“Stiles? Shit.”

The boy cracks one eye open, grimacing. He flinches reflexively away from the hand that drops to his neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Derek pulls his hand away and takes a step back, doing his best to look as unintimidating as possible.

“I’m okay.” Stiles sits up slowly. The hurt is already fading, more shock than actual injury. He shields his eyes against the sun filtering down through the trees. “Are you?”

“Really Stiles?” Derek sounds angry. It’s not the same as whatever rage had gripped him before. “I hurt you and you’re asking if _I’m_ okay?”

“You didn’t hurt me, I’m fine.” Stiles gets to his feet and brushes the dirt from his jeans. “See.” He runs his hands through his hair to dislodge the leaves. His head is a little tender from where it connected with the ground, but other than that he’s okay.

He can’t help but glance over his shoulder, but whatever presence he’d felt earlier is gone now. Still, better to be safe than sorry. “Maybe it’s time to head home though,” he suggests.

“Stiles, I hurt you.”

“You really didn’t,” Stiles insists. “I tripped. You can’t be blamed for my clumsiness.”

Derek shakes his head. “I lost control again.”

“And I made the mistake of getting into your space when you told me not to.” Stiles points out. “You’re not the one at fault here.”

Derek looks ready to argue but Stiles cuts him off before he gets the chance.

“Look, you’re stuck with me regardless,” he says, “because I don’t know the way back to the Jeep from here.” He goes for humour, keeping his tone light, but all he gets from Derek is a glare before the werewolf turns and stalks back through the trees.

As the adrenaline fades and his heart rate calms, Stiles turns to follow Derek and realises that the werewolf is no longer shifted and is completely, utterly and totally naked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post an additional chapter as penance for the radio silence...

The rest of the evening is tense.

Walking back through the preserve towards the car Stiles can practically feel the anxiety radiating off Derek but the werewolf stomps off ahead at a pace that leaves no room for conversation and Stiles has to hurry to keep up.

Once they reach the car and Derek is dressed, they begin the awkward trip home. Stiles tries to strike up conversation as they drive but it is stilted and one-sided- Derek preferring to sit in sullen silence and stare out the window rather than respond. It makes for a long drive.

As soon as they reach the Stilinski house, Derek makes himself scarce, locking himself in the spare bedroom. Stiles tries not to dwell on it and busies himself with more research, leaving Derek to his own devices. He’s learnt that sometimes it’s better to give the werewolf some space before he goes and tries to talk some sense into him.

He waits until he’s finished making dinner before he goes and knocks on the door to the guest bedroom.

“Hey, you’re probably not hungry, but you should still eat something,” he calls through the door.

He doesn’t get a response.

With a sigh, Stiles makes his way back downstairs. He’ll try again later.

He sits at the kitchen bench with his plate and forces himself to eat. Anxiety sits like a heavy ball in his stomach shrinking up any appetite he might have had but he goes through the motions knowing from previous experience if he doesn’t eat, he’ll regret it later.

The Sheriff notices the tension as soon as he enters the house. It’s late, but Stiles is still up, trawling through internet pages of spells and curses, eyes gritty with exhaustion.

“Everything okay?” He asks his son. 

“I guess that depends on your definition of okay,” Stiles tells him from the couch. His eyes never leave his computer screen as he continues to pour over his research.

The Sheriff’s eyes flick from his son to the staircase. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, something happened,” Stiles bites, shoving aside his computer. He scrubs his hands across his face. “One of my best friends is losing control of his ability to stay human and I have no idea why it’s happening or how to fix it. So yeah, that’s something.” He reaches over to slam the laptop shut as if to make his point.

John sits down beside Stiles on the couch. “You’ll figure it out.”

Stiles let’s himself slump against his dad. “That’s what I keep telling Derek,” he says. “But what if I can’t fix it? What if there is no fix and this is it?”

John’s heart just breaks for his boy. He puts an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him in close.

“It’s only been a couple of days,” he reminds him. “You just need a little more time.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. It’s been more than a couple of days. It’s been weeks since Derek was truly himself and now it’s getting worse at an exponential rate. Time is not something they have a lot of. Every day Derek is a little worse, a little more wild. How long until there’s no humanity left in him?

He shrugs out of his dad’s hug and stands. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” he says wearily. He doesn’t wait for a response, just trudges up the stairs towards his room. On his way past he tries Derek again, not expectant of a reply which is good, because he doesn’t get one.

Stiles shuffles across the hall to his room and flops on to his bed. After a minute he gets back up to kick off his shoes and change into a pair of pyjama pants, then crawl under the covers.

He lies there, staring up at his ceiling and tries to will his thoughts to settle down so that he can sleep. He can hear the soft thunk of footsteps as his dad moves around downstairs but the room next to his is silent.

A car speeds past on the street outside, headlights sending light in streaks through the blinds. For a moment the shadows seem to come alive, twisting and stretching towards the bed. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut to block it all out and curls onto his side to face the wall.

Sleep is a long time coming, and when it finally arrives, it’s far from peaceful. Stiles spends the first half of the night tossing and turning to escape from the demons that chase him through his dreams. Somewhere around 2am he chokes back into consciousness, heart pounding wildly in his chest. Every time he closes his eyes, his worst fears play out on the back of his eyelids. Stiles rubs at his face and reaches for his phone. The blinking numbers taunt him with how little he’s slept.

He doesn’t understand, he’s been sleeping so well.

Stiles pushes up into a seated position, body slumped forward, head hanging low and looks towards his desk. Tonight, the chair beside it sits empty.

He flops back down, air escaping his lungs in a rush and wonders if Derek is having as much trouble sleeping as he is.

Indecision grips him. Derek doesn’t want to talk to him and likely wouldn’t appreciate Stiles creeping into his room in the middle of the night, but the possibility of a good night’s sleep is too strong a draw. That thought gets him moving again, up and out into the hall until he’s standing at the guest room door.

It’s not that weird, Stiles tries to rationalise. Derek spent the last two nights in Stiles’ room. Stiles is just returning the favour. Two buds helping each other out. It has nothing to do with the fact that Stiles feels safe when Derek is around. That his presence is like a breath of fresh air that fills Stiles’ lungs and buzzes out under the skin filling him with warmth.

The door barely makes a sound as Stiles pushes it open.

Moonlight filters through the open window casting a soft light over the empty bed.

Empty.

Bed.

Stiles goes cold all over.

Lurching out of the room, Stile steals a glance towards the bathroom. The door hangs open, the room empty but for Stiles’ wide-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Stiles hurries to the ground floor taking the stairs two at a time and flicking on the lights as he passes. “Derek?”

The living room is empty. Stiles’ notes still lay scattered across the coffee table where he’s left them before turning in. He knocks his notebook onto the floor in his rush past to the kitchen.

The fridge casts a warm yellow glow across the room when Stiles opens the door. The meal he had put aside for Derek sits untouched on the top shelf.

“Derek?” His calls get more frantic. Stiles crosses the living room to check the garage, even going so far as to walk all the way around the cruiser parked inside. He heads back into the house, hands shaking as he pulls the door closed behind himself.

“What are you doing?”

John stands at the bottom of the steps, hair mused and bleary-eyed from sleep.

“I-“ Stiles flounders for the words as panic rises in his chest. Derek’s gone. Stiles had left him alone to brood in peace thinking he needed space and now it’s been hours since they got home from the preserve; hours since Stiles had actually seen or heard from Derek. He could have disappeared out the window the moment he’d shut the door and Stiles has no way of knowing.

He pushes past his dad, heading back towards the bedrooms. He turns on the light in the guest room, observing the neatly made bed and the folded clothes sitting on the drawers.

“Stiles?”

John follows Stiles into the room, his gaze calculating as he watches Stiles gather the evidence of Derek’s disappearance.

“All his things are still here.” Stiles mutters, mostly to himself. He picks up Derek’s phone, turning it in his hands. The movement triggers the screen to light up and the notification bar indicates two missed calls and a text from Boyd. “He just… left everything.”

“Maybe he went out to clear his head?” John suggests in a futile attempt to keep his son’s rising panic from swallowing him.

“Without his phone?” Stiles asks. “Or his shoes?” He points to the footwear he’s just noticed by the end of the bed.

“Son, he can turn into a wolf.” The Sheriff steps further into the room. “Wolves don’t wear shoes. Besides, I always did think that boy had some weird aversion to clothes.”

Stiles turns to glare at his dad. “Not helping.”

John raises his hands, ever the calm detective. “Look, I’m just saying there’s no sense panicking just yet.”

Despite the reassurances, Stiles can’t help the spike of fear that courses through him. “You said it yourself Dad, he’s a werewolf – a powerful, not-so-in-control werewolf.” Stiles puts down the phone and looks up at his Dad. “He was out of my sight for like five minutes this morning and he lost control. That’s not really someone you want roaming the streets at three in the morning.” He scrubs a hand over his face, his eyes are gritty with exhaustion. “I’m going to call Scott, see if he can track Derek down. We’ll find him and bring him back.”

John sighs at the stubborn set of his son’s mouth. “Parrish is on patrol tonight,” he remembers. “I’ll ask if he’s seen anything… and to keep an eye out.” He ambles out of the room towards his own.

Stiles follows, watching as his father follows through on his promise. He rings Parrish and explains the situation, all while keeping the same calm tone that only twenty-plus years in the police force can achieve.

Maybe his dad is right. Maybe he _is_ overreacting.

Stiles brushes those thoughts aside. He _knows_ he’s not. Something has happened to Derek. Something bad. There was no way Derek would have left the house under his own steam. Stiles knows him too well. He knows Derek would never risk endangering innocent lives.

Stiles fetches his own phone to call Scott. He fills him in on the events of the day and cops an earful from his buddy for not telling him earlier that Derek had lost control around him.

“This really isn’t the time to be having this argument,” he points out. “We need to find Derek.”

“Fine,” Scott grumbles from the other end of the line. Stiles can hear him moving around, and another softer voice mumbling in the background. Kira must have been staying over. “But I reserve the right to call you an idiot when I see you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get over here please.” Stiles disconnects the call. “Scott’s on his way ‘round. Hopefully he can track the scent.” He calls across to his dad. “I’m going to go check the loft real quick. Just in case.”

John appears in the doorway and watches Stiles tug on his sneakers.

“You want me to come?”

Stiles shakes his head and stands. “I’ll be fine,” he promises. “If he’s there, it’s probably better that I find him, rather than anyone else.”

“Please be careful.”

“I will.”

~~

The Camaro is parked in its usual spot, but its presence doesn’t mean all that much. They’d left it behind when Derek had come to stay, and the werewolf is more than capable of getting around without it. Still, hope sparks in Stiles’ chest when he sees it.

He hurries to dig through his keys and open the front door of the warehouse. Once inside, he takes the stairs two at a time. Up one floor, to the next until he reaches the top, then a moment of fumbling to get the huge sliding door open.

The loft is empty.

The blanket Stiles had used last time he’d stayed over is still slung across the back of the couch and there’s nothing to suggest anyone has been there in days. There’s a pile of mountain ash on the floor nearby – the remains of the circles Stiles had made around Scott and Derek before taking Derek back to his house.

Stiles wanders through the empty building searching for clues and comes up with nothing.

He takes the lift back to the ground floor, sagging against the handrail in defeat. As he makes his slow descent, he checks his phone. There’s a text from Scott asking where he’s gone. Stiles shoots back a response and trudges back to the Jeep.

The engine roars loud through the empty carpark.

Stiles puts the car in gear and heads for home taking a winding route through dark streets, eyes peeled for any sign of Derek. He’s almost home when he realises-

“Idiot,” he mumbles to himself, pulling the car to the side of the road so he can make a U-turn. The preserve should have been the first place he checked.

Fat raindrops splatter against the windscreen as Stiles speeds down the narrow, muddy road that leads to the Hale house. Visibility is poor and in the dark every shadow is a potential threat.

The Jeep skids to a stop at the ruins of the house.

“ _Derek?_ ” Blinking back against the water that pelts his face, Stiles calls out into the night. The only answer he gets is the rustle of the trees and the heavy patter of rain.

Retrieving his bat from the back seat, Stiles turns to the woods.

“This is not a good idea.” He tightens his grip on the bat- rain has made the polished wood slippery. “This is a very no good, terrible, bad idea.”

He silently debates the merits of turning on his phone flashlight, but ultimately decides against it. Knowing his luck, he’ll just drop the thing in a puddle, and in the downpour he’s not sure the torch would be good for much other than ruining his night vision.

He tries the house first. It doesn’t take long to confirm that it’s empty.

With a fortifying breath, Stiles heads back outside and walks down towards the trees.

“Derek?” He calls out into the shadows as he walks. “You out here?” Stiles steps further into the woods. He stumbles over a root, swears, and quickly casts his eyes around. Nothing stands out in the dark, but once again Stiles is overcome with the feeling of being watched.

“Derek?” He tries again.

“Nope.”

Stiles jumps at the unfamiliar and unexpected voice in the trees.

He spins, bat raised, but he can’t locate the source of the voice. “Are you going to face me or keep hiding in the trees in the trees like a coward?” The rain muffles all other sounds and Stiles almost jumps out of his skin when a figure seems to materialise right in front of him.

“What have you done with Derek?” Stiles shouts, raising his bat higher.

The man steps forward, eyes on the baseball bat.

“You brought a weapon,” he says, ignoring Stiles’ question. “Not a wolf then. It was foolish to come out here all on your own.” He smiles wide, all teeth and a strange rushing sensation ripples across Stiles’ body.

Stiles shifts back, tightening his grip on the bat. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“A human.” The man’s smile grows impossibly wider. “What are you doing out here? All on your own in the dark. Don’t you know there are beasts out here?”

“All I see is you.”

The stranger still hasn’t directly acknowledged any of Stiles’ words. He’s just watching Stiles with a thoughtful expression.

“Perhaps the wolf means something to you. This will certainly make things more interesting.” His next words are lost in the soft patter of the rain, but their effects are immediately clear when an invisible force rips the bat from Stiles’ hands.

“That’s better.”

“What are you?” Stiles asks. The man is magic, he knows that much. “What do you want?” His phone is vibrating in his pocket. Stiles wonders if he can get to it without the mage realising. It’s likely either Scott or his dad on the line. If he can get his hands into his pocket, he’s got a pretty good chance of answering the call without looking.

His fingers close on his keys first and in the fumble both his phone and keys slip out of his pocket and into the mud.

The action goes unnoticed by the mage.

He’s turned, head cocked, listening to something or someone Stiles cannot see or hear. “Oh, this is wonderful.” He laughs turning back to Stiles. “Killing you will cause him so much pain.”

“What?” Stiles looks around. “What did you do to Derek?” He calls out for the wolf, terrified that he’s been hurt by the mage.

“I’m going to make sure he kills you first. And then I’m going to watch as he destroys his entire pack. One. By. One.”

He steps back, his silhouette merging with the trees so that Stiles can no longer make him out.

“Derek?” Stiles calls out, more urgent now that he appears to be alone.

A growl tears through the darkness, low and menacing, raising the hairs on the back of his arms. Stiles takes a step back towards the clearing.

A new shadow separates from the tree’s and eyes flare red in the dark.

Stiles flails back before recognising the figure.

“Scott? Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” He presses his hand to his racing heart. “What are you doing out here man?”

“Looking for you after you ditched me! Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I-“ Stiles shoves his hand into his empty pocket. He curses and crouches to search through the mud, catching a glimpse of light reflected off his car keys. His phone takes longer to find.

“Your dad’s worried sick,” Scott says as he helps Stiles search. “He’s been trying to call you.” He finds the phone and hands it over.

Stiles holds down the power button, but the screen remains blank. He hopes it’s the battery and not water damage.

“Did you find Derek?”

Scott shakes his head. “No, no one’s seen him.” He leads the way back towards the clearing. “It’s weird though. When I was at your house I tried to track him, but there’s no scent trail. It’s like he just vanished.”

“Someone’s taken him.” Stiles shoves his phone and keys into his pocket and jogs to catch up to Scott. “I don’t know who, but he was here.”

“Derek?”

“No, the guy to took him. Right before you showed up. You must have heard something?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Then how’d you know where I was?” Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs. “I found your car parked at the house and followed your scent. Once I got close enough, I could hear you talking. I was hoping you were talking to Derek.”

“You could hear me but not the magic guy? Some Alpha you are buddy.”

They’ve almost made their way back to the car when there’s a rustling from the woods behind them.

“What the hell was that?”

“Stay behind me Stiles.”

Scott shoves Stiles aside with a growl, his face already beginning to shift. A wolf stalks out of the trees towards them, hackles raised. Scott snarls at the wolf and moves forward, ready to attack.

“Scott! Wait!” Stiles pushes to get between Scott and the wolf. “It’s Derek!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lost two phones from wide, shallow PJ pockets!! 
> 
> Anyway....
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and commented, you are all so wonderful!!!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/) and send me a prompt!


	5. Chapter 5

The wolf snarls and snaps sending foam flying with the gnashing of his teeth. Stiles goes to push past Scott, but his friend latches on to Stiles’ shirt and pulls him back from the snapping jaws.

“Stiles,” Scott struggles to keep the human from tearing free of his grip. “He’s wild.”

“No.” Stiles pulls himself from Scott’s hold, his wet shirt slapping against his skin as he slips free. “He’s not going to hurt me.” The wolf growls louder as Stiles takes a cautious step forward. His eyes bleed blue as he snarls.

“Look at him,” Scott pleads. “We can’t take that chance. He will kill you.”

Stiles keeps his gaze steady on Derek. “We can’t leave him like this. What if someone hurts him?”

“He’s a werewolf.” Stiles watches Derek’s eyes flick from him to Scott as Scott speaks. The wolf’s hackles are raised, saliva drips from bared fangs. “I’m more afraid that Derek’s the one who is going to hurt someone.”

“He’ll never forgive himself,” Stiles whispers. “If he hurts someone. I’m not leaving him like this. Derek-” Stiles takes another slow step forward, halting when the wolf growls. “Hey, none of that.” The growling stops but the teeth are still bared.

Stiles takes another halting step forward, almost closing the gap between himself and the wolf. Ever so slowly, he reaches out his hand.

Derek snaps and Stiles recoils.

“Stiles!” Scott moves forward trying to get between the two of them.

Derek swings around to Scott growling again.

“Scott, you need to move back.” Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek, carefully slipping around so that he’s put himself back between Scott and Derek and waits for the wolf to focus on him again.

“No way! I’m not leaving you.”

“Please Scotty. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

“Stiles.”

“Please.”

Stiles can’t see Scott move away, but after an agonising moment, the wolf relaxes slightly.

“Hey Sourwolf.” Stiles tries to keep his tone light and friendly, but there’s no hiding the small tremor. He gulps and tries again. “Hey, I’m right here. Look at me.”

The growling slows to a rumble and then stops altogether as Derek fixes Stiles with a blue-eyed stare. Stiles takes another shuffling step forward, his feet almost slipping in the mud that is deepening at his feet. The rain around them is thunderous, or maybe that’s the pounding of his heart as Stiles closes the gap between him and the feral wolf.

Stiles stretches out his arm. There are only inches between them. He brushes gently against Derek’s coat then let’s his long fingers tangle in coarse black fur. Derek lets out a whine— high and desperate.

Slowly, Stiles crouches to wrap his arms around the wolf. A cold nose presses into his neck and the weight of the fully grown wolf forces him back until Stiles is practically sitting under the large creature.

“There, see. I’m not so bad.” Stiles strokes behind Derek’s ears. “Do you think you could shift back?”

The wolf trembles in his lap.

“Nope? That’s okay. Take your time.” Ignoring the burn of supporting a fully grown, soaking wet wolf across his legs, Stiles continues to brush his hands through Derek’s thick fur.

As they sit, the rain lightens to a damp mist that settles over everything, soaking deeper into clothes and fur. Derek is sprawled almost fully across Stiles’ lap. Scott has moved back towards the trees but hovers within pouncing distance, just in case.

It’s cold in the clearing. Stiles supresses a shiver as a freezing water droplet trails down the back of his neck. His butt is going numb in the wet dirt and he can’t feel his feet, but still he sits and waits, his arms wrapped around Derek and his face pressed into damp fur.

Slowly, so slowly, Stiles can feel the muscles in Derek’s back relax.

The wolf shakes. Stiles holds him close as fur fades to skin. He gives it another moment before he asks, “you think you can stand?”

Derek lifts his head and nods.

“Come on.” Stiles has to shake the feeling back into his legs before standing. “The Jeep’s not far. I think I might have a blanket in it.”

Derek just nods again.

Scott comes forward to help. Derek snarls and Scott backs off quickly, hands raised in surrender. He follows from a safe distance as they walk back towards the Jeep.

When they reach the car, Stiles pulls a blanket from the back. He holds it out, but when Derek makes no move to take it, Stiles just wraps it around the werewolf’s shoulders and then guides him towards the passenger seat.

Derek still hasn’t said anything. He sits silently, staring at the fabric pooling in his lap.

“Uh, I’m going to take him home.” Stiles looks to Scott apologetically. “I’d give you a lift, but, uh-“

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Scott waves him off. “I’ll be right on foot. Call me, okay?”

Stiles nods and moves around to the driver’s seat. Fortunately, his keys are still in the pocket of his pyjamas and Stiles is able to start the car. The roar of the engine breaks through the silence that permeates the cab.

Stiles tries not to keep looking over at Derek as he drives. He tries to keep his eyes on the road, bottom lip caught in his teeth, mind going one hundred miles an hour as he tries to think of _something_ he can say to ease the tension in the car. He doesn’t need to be a werewolf to feel the anxiety rolling off his passenger. He can see it in the hunched shoulders and twitching fingers picking at the edges of the blanket.

As they drive back into town, Stiles makes the turn that will take them to the loft. At first, he considered taking Derek back to his own house but ultimately decided against it. The loft is Derek’s space. His territory. It would smell like pack and Stiles hopes that will help.

The sun is just peaking over the horizon when he parks the Jeep beside Derek’s Camaro. He manages to get his phone to turn on long enough to shoot off a text message to Scott and the others, telling them they got back safe, they’re okay but to stay away. Given the way Derek had reacted to Scott, even with Stiles there to help calm him down, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to have the pack over.

He leads the way up into the loft, guiding Derek towards the bedroom with a gentle hand on the werewolf’s back. Without a word, Derek lets the blanket fall to the floor then climbs into bed. Stiles bends to collect it— it’s only a little damp and he figures he can curl up in it on the couch.

He turn to head back downstairs.

“Don’t go.”

They’re the first words Derek has said since he shifted back.

Stiles pauses in the doorway.

“Stay.”

Stiles turns back to the room. He drapes the blanket over the end of the bed and kicks off his shoes. His fingers pluck at the hem of his hoodie, worrying at the damp fabric. Stiles isn’t keen on sleeping in wet clothing so he sheds the hoodie and the shirt underneath. His pajama pants are probably ruined. Mud crumbles from the worn cotton so Stiles lets them fall to the floor and kicks them into the pile of wet clothes.

He sits on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do next. He could retrieve the blanket and sleep on top of the sheets. He eyes it a moment before letting out a long breath and slides under the sheets instead.

Derek has his back to him, facing the doorway. His breathing is deep and even, but Stiles doesn’t believe for a second that he’s asleep. Stiles’ own mind is racing, and despite the exhaustion of being up half the night, he doesn’t think he’ll sleep any time soon.

Stiles stretches out on his back, staring at the ceiling. Outside the rain has picked back up, drumming against the large window above the bed. The sound is soothing, and Stiles lets his eyes drift shut.

When he wakes up, sunlight is streaming in through the window. Stiles is curled up on his side, his back pressed up against a warm chest. There’s an arm thrown around him, holding him tight. It feels good. Right.

Stiles can feel the warm breath on the back of his neck. He’s fairly certain that Derek is still sleeping, but he doesn’t want to shift and check, just in case he wakes the werewolf. Neither of them have slept well the last few nights.

Derek shifts, his arm tightening around Stiles’ waist. There is a distinct memory of falling asleep on his back. At some point in the night, they must have rolled towards each other on the bed.

Stiles feels his cheeks warm. Derek had been fully shifted the night before. They’d returned to the loft with Derek wearing nothing but a blanket. Stiles had been too tired and too relieved to even notice it before climbing into bed, but unless Derek had gotten up during the night to put on some clothes…

All the blood rushes out of his face and travels south. Every part of his body that is touching Derek heats and, considering he’s lying with his back pressed to Derek’s chest, their legs tangled together, Stiles is feeling pretty warm. He tries not to think about it… but…

He’s thought about waking up like this before. About what it would be like. He hopes it doesn’t freak Derek out too much when he wakes, though, in the Stiles’ defence, Derek _is_ the one doing the cuddling.

It’s something Stiles has noticed over the last few months. As the pack as grown more comfortable as a team, as they’ve learned to trust each other and build the pack bonds, they’ve all become more affectionate with each other. Derek included. Stiles has seen him scenting the others. Hell, Derek has been scenting him a lot over the last few days. More than normal.

And it’s not the only think Stiles has noticed.

“Hey.”

The word is accompanied by a puff of warm air on the back of Stiles’ neck. He hadn’t noticed Derek wake and he flails, half squirming out from under Derek’s arm.

“Hey.” Stiles ignores the way his voice breaks, just a little and twists to look back over his shoulder. The events of the last twenty-four hours hang heavy over them both. It shows in the dark circles under Derek’s eyes and the way his shoulder hunch in like he’s protecting himself. Something needs to be done.

“About last night,” Stiles starts, “we should uh- talk.”

Derek nods.

“Alright. Great. Okay. Uh…” His words falter. “What happened last night? You were a wolf, but… it was like you didn’t recognise us. I thought…” Stiles rolls over onto his side so he can face Derek. “How’d you do it? How’d you come back?”

“Anchor.”

“What?”

“You. You’re my anchor. It’s… why I can stay in control when you’re around.” Derek shifts too, drawing one arm up to tuck under his head. The other arm is still thrown across Stiles’ waist. “It’s why I was able to shift back last night. You keep me grounded. Human.”

“I—” Stiles hesitates, unsure of what to say. Nothing he wants to say is good enough. Nothing conveys just how hard he’s going to fight to help figure out what’s going on with Derek’s control.

Stiles might be Derek’s anchor, but the feeling goes both ways. Stiles can feel him now—the hand that was around his waist has trailed down to his hip, fingers splayed, holding him steady.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Stiles promises.

“I know.”

They’re staring at each other. Derek is so close that Stiles barely needs to shift. His tongue darts out and wets his lips. Derek’s eyes track the movement.

Slowly, Stiles leans in, his lips brush Derek’s ever so slightly. He pulls back, just millimetres, eyes flicking up to catch Derek’s expression.

Derek lunges forwards and their lips clash with too much force. The fingers on Stiles’ hip clutch and squeeze. It’s Stiles lets out a grunt and Derek releases him, murmuring apologies into his mouth.

Stiles throws his leg over Derek’s waist, rolling them so he sits straddling the werewolf. Yep, definitely still naked.

Reality comes crashing back in and Stiles swears, scrambling to climb off Derek. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- _shit_ Derek.”

Derek raises himself up on his elbows, allowing Stiles to retreat to the edge of his bed. His face is a mask of confusion. “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”

“What? No. You didn’t—" Stiles tries to ignore the way the sheets pool in the werewolf’s lap and drags his hand down his face. “I just- I shouldn’t have jumped you like that.”

“What are you talking about Stiles?” Derek sits up and leans back against the wall.

“Kissing you. It was… a mistake. I shouldn’t have.”

“ _Oh._ ”

That one word almost has Stiles’ heart breaking.

“Not because I didn’t wanna or anything!” He rushes to say, the words spilling from him in a torrent of reassurances. “I did. Or, I do. So much. Like you don’t even know.”

“I’m beginning to think I do know.”

Stiles raises his head sharply. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny Derek. With everything that’s going on, I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Derek doesn’t respond immediately. Stiles can’t look at him, instead he picks at the blanket still draped over the foot of the bed.

“Stiles.” Derek has to nudge him with foot to get him to look up. “So maybe you kissed me first,” Derek says when Stiles finally looks at him. “But I kissed you back. I wanted it too. You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“It’s doesn’t feel right. There are a lot of… emotions. It can make things confusing.”

“Have you ever known me to do something I didn’t want to?”

“Yes!” Stiles can’t help but glare. “All the time, because you’re a self-sacrificing idiot with absolutely zero regard for self-preservation.” He gets up from the bed so that he can pace. He thinks better when he’s moving.

“Stiles, you need to trust that we both want this.”

“I want too. I do… But, you’re under some sort of spell, it’s why you’ve been losing control and whatever it is about me that helps you—"

“Anchor.”

“ _Whatever it is_. We can’t be sure it’s not the magic making you feel like that and I’m not… I can’t do that. Once this is all over, if you still want this…want _me_ , yeah, totally I’ll be all over that. But we shouldn’t, not until we know what’s going on.”

“Okay.”

Things are a little awkward after that. Stiles goes to charge his phone and give Derek some privacy to put on some clothes. After plugging in the phone, the screen stays blank. Stiles pulls off the back casing to find mud has worked its way into the battery compartment and the little liquid indicator has gone bright pink. The phone is dead. His dad is going to kill him for destroying another ine. Stiles drops it onto the counter and returns to the bedroom.

He hasn’t been gone long, but when he returns Derek’s eyes flash and the claws come out. They sit together on the bed until Derek lets out a long breath and mumbles that he’s okay again.

Stiles debates whether or not they should shower. On the one hand, Derek has mud in his hair and Stiles slept in his damp boxers. He definitely smells a little musty. But he’s not sure he could leave Derek alone for the length of time it would take for both of them to wash.

In the end, they take turns.

Derek doesn’t have any issues with nudity. Still, Stiles makes him turn away while he quickly undresses and jumps under the spray. When they switch over Stiles sits on the edge of the bath while he waits for Derek to finish. He didn’t bring any clothes in with him and he can’t go and find any because he doesn’t want to leave Derek. His mind drifts back to Scott’s suggestion of trapping Derek in a mountain ash circle. The though makes Stiles uncomfortable, but if Derek continues to get worse, they may not have a choice.

Once Derek is out of the shower, he lends Stiles a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. They both hang just a little too loosely and Stiles has to keep a hand on the waistband to keep his pants from falling down. Derek seems to find it amusing and Stiles decides it’s worth it to see the small smile back on his face.

They decide to head back to Stiles’ house. The drive across town is silent, but it’s a comfortable silence this time. They’re both too tired to hold much of a conversation.

His dad must have been listening out for the Jeep, because he’s out to meet them before Stiles has shut off the engine.

“I have been trying to ring you all morning.”

Stiles sighs at the anger and frustration that clouds his father’s face.

“Sorry Dad.” He hops out of the car and walks around towards the house. “Phone’s completely busted.” He waves the bricked device as evidence.

The anger in his Dad’s expression gives way to concern. “I was worried about you.” He shoots a look at Derek who is standing dejectedly by the Jeep. “Both of you.”

Derek looks up at this, relief flooding his features, but when the Sheriff steps closer his eyes flick to blue and he almost doubles over against the Jeep in an effort to keep from shifting out in public. His breath comes in pants as he tries to get himself under control.

Stiles is quick to rush over, placing a hand on Derek’s back.

“Uh, how about we take this inside?” He suggests, guiding Derek towards the house while keeping up a steady stream of what he hopes is calming words of reassurance.

John follows them inside from a distance, careful not to get too close, and shuts the door behind them.

“Is this a good idea?” He asks.

Derek and Stiles have moved to the far end of the room and Derek’s eyes are no longer glowing.

“I honestly don’t know,” Stiles sighs. “But what else are we supposed to do?”

Derek sits at one of the bar stools by the kitchen bench. “We need a plan,” he says, scrubbing tiredly at his jaw. “We can’t keep acting on the defensive like this. If we wait around until something happens again, someone is going to get hurt.”

“Okay. Here’s a plan.” Stiles re-adjusts the baggy sweatpants that are falling off his hips. “First, I need to get changed, then breakfast.” He glances up at the clock on the wall. “Or, I guess, lunch. Then we find out who this magic person is and what he wants.”

Stiles drags Derek with him upstairs so he can find some clothes that fit. He rummages around in his drawers for a shirt and a pair of jeans while Derek sits on his unmade bed.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” Stiles asks, stripping off his t-shirt and tossing it on the floor.

“Bits and pieces,” Derek admits. “It’s—" he sighs. “Wolves don’t think the way humans do. It’s not linear, it’s more like—I remember catching a scent and the adrenaline of the hunt. I remember fear and anger. And then I remember you.”

“That’s not particularly helpful.” Stiles shrugs a clean shirt over his head and looks down at his pants, flushing. “Can you, uh, turn around?”

“Why?”

“I need to get changed…”

“I sat in the bathroom while you showered this morning.”

“So?”

“You slept in my bed in nothing but your boxers.”

“I didn’t have many options. It was that or sleep in my muddy clothes. Now, turn around.” Stiles waits until Derek does as he’s told and quickly slips out of the sweats into a pair of jeans. “Okay, it’s safe. I’m not going to blind you with my pasty white chicken legs.” Stiles turns to gather his laptop and a few of the books sitting on his desk.

“I’ve already seen your pasty white chicken legs.”

“So, you know how bad it is.”

Derek smiles. It’s small but it’s there. “It’s pretty bad.”

Stiles smacks him with one of the books he’s holding. “And for that you’ll never see them again.”

They head back downstairs and Stiles uses Derek’s phone to let the others know they’re okay and back at his place. His dad hovers over them while Stiles tries to move about the kitchen but he’s tripping on clingy werewolf on one side and anxious father on the other.

“You.” He points at Derek and then one of the bar stools. “Sit. You.” He points at his Dad. “Can’t you go do something, anything, somewhere else? You’re making this worse.”

John grudgingly moves to sit on the couch where he can still see them without getting all up in their space. Stiles decides it will have to do and continues to put together something for lunch.

Stiles spends the rest of the afternoon glued to his laptop looking up curses. The sorcerer’s words from the previous night have pretty much confirmed that Derek’s been cursed, or at least placed under some sort of magic spell. It doesn’t narrow things down as much as Stiles would like. There are many ways to curse a person and they end up rehashing theories from previous days.

“Are you _sure_ you didn’t piss someone off?” Stiles asks.

“Pretty sure.”

Stiles looks through the webpage he’s got open again. “Well, most of these require some sort of contact with the spell caster.” He looks up from the computer. “Either they need to be around you to cast it, or they need something of yours.”

“What did he look like?”

“Uh—" It had been dark and raining and Stiles hadn’t been able to really make out many identifying features. “Tall. Taller than me.” Stiles leans back in his seat and stretches the kinks out of his back. “He had dark hair.”

“That’s helpful.”

“What about the curses,” John prompts. He’s moved from the couch to the kitchen table. “How do you curse someone?”

“Well there’s the evil eye.” Stiles uses finger quotes around the words. “Which I guess is just a general fuck you to the victim of the curse. It’s more wishing ill-intent on a person. I don’t think it’s specific enough for something like this.”

“What’s a more specific curse.”

“Um, well you’ve got verbal curses, and written curses but I think it’s is a long form curse.”

Derek glances over Stiles’ shoulder to look at the webpage. “Cursing 101?”

“Yeah?”

“The font is in papyrus.”

“We’re just coming up with theories.” Stiles turns the computer screen away from Derek’s judgemental gaze. “It doesn’t need to be one hundred percent accurate. That’s what our friendly local veterinarian is for.” He doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“You don’t like Deaton,” Derek points out unnecessarily.

“He still knows more about this stuff than we do.” Stiles admits. “But I’m not going to deny that he’s tight-lipped on information unless it benefits him directly, which this doesn’t. Maybe we should send Scott over there, see if he’s back yet. He likes Scott.”

He turns back to his research and the Sheriff clears his throat.

“So, what’s a long form curse?” John asks prompting the conversation back on track.

“Right.” Stiles shuts his laptop this time to prevent further distraction. “It usually takes a while to put together, which means who ever cast it has a serious grudge against you. It needs something to focus it, something that belongs to the person being cursed. Hair, saliva, something of yours?”

“You don’t necessarily need contact for these things,” John points out. “You could get saliva from a used coffee cup, hair from a chair or from a table you sat at. Or this person could have broken into the loft.”

Derek shakes his head. “I would have caught his scent.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles says. “Scott didn’t get anything last night and I was literally standing face to face with Mr Magician. I don’t think we can rely on scent to track him down.”

“So, if we can’t find him,” John asks, “how do we break this hypothetical curse?”

“There are spells we could try, but we would need someone who could cast them. Also, some of them take a long time to complete and needs things like—" Stiles reopens the laptop to read from the webpage, “’water charged with the suns energies’ or ‘complete the spell under the new moon’. We don’t have time to wait for the new moon, it’s over a week away.”

“What other options so we have?” Derek asks.

Stiles turns to face him. “If the curse is using something of yours, maybe if we find it and burn it, that might break the curse. Otherwise the spellcaster can break the curse, but that means finding him and convincing him to do it.”

John gets up from the table and moves to the kitchen to make a start on dinner.

“So, what are you thinking?” He asks as he pulls things from the fridge.

Stiles snags Derek’s phone to check the time, then unlocks it so he can send Scott a text message. “I’m thinking that maybe tomorrow we split the pack. Send half around to have a chat to Deaton—see if we can confirm any of this and convince him to help us break the curse.”

“And the others?”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “We’ll send them out to search the loft and your maybe old house, look for anything that shouldn’t be there.”

He starts packing up so he can help his Dad prepare dinner.

By the time they’ve finished eating and Derek has texted the rest of the pack, they’re both wiped. Stiles is running on about four hours sleep for the last forty-eight hours and he’s ready to crash. John offers to clean up, so Stiles and Derek both head upstairs.

“This isn’t going to work.” Stiles frowns when Derek moves towards the spare bedroom. “You can’t stay in there, it’s too far away.”

Derek pauses in the doorway. “You could put mountain ash along the window and doorway,” he suggests.

Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs Derek by the arm to drag him into his own bedroom. “I’m not doing that. You can sleep in here.” He pushes Derek towards the bed and then goes to his drawers to find a pair of pants to sleep in. He spots Derek’s sweats, still on the floor where he’d dropped them earlier and picks them up.

“But what about your Dad?”

“We’re all adults,” Stiles says. “He’ll just have to get over it.”

“I heard that,” John says from the corridor.

“Point still stands.”

John appears in the doorway. “I don’t like this.”

“I thought you approved,” Stiles teases, reminding his Dad of their conversation just days ago.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just want you to be safe. Both of you.”

“I am not caging him—" Stiles turns to Derek. “I am not caging _you_ in that room. This is the safest way for all of us.”

John grumbles about it under his breath for a moment before sighing. “Fine, but this door stays open.”

Stiles just shrugs, he’s too tired to do anything other than sleep anyway.

He and Derek finish getting ready for bed, both crowding into the small bathroom to brush their teeth. When he’s finally, gratefully about to fall into bed Derek stops him.

“I still think you should use mountain ash across the door. You can still cross it, so if anything does happen, you can get out if you need too.”

“Fine.” Stiles reluctantly accepts that Derek’s right. He goes to his desk and digs around for the jar of mountain ash he keeps in his room. “Last call for the bathroom.” He spreads a line across the door and then goes over to the window to repeat the motion.

This time, Derek doesn’t stop him when Stiles crawls into bed. He tucks himself in close to Derek’s chest and within minutes is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry!!! Oh my god. This fic has been haunting me since May, but I wrote myself into a hole in chapter 6 and couldn't work out how to fix it and then every time I tried I got frustrated and ended up just closing the document.
> 
> Anyway... I fixed chapter six. So I'll be posting the last three chapters soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles surfaces slowly, drifting in that comfortable space between sleeping and waking, just aware enough to realise that it’s morning and that he’d slept well. Really, _really_ well.

He feels rested, which is not an experience Stiles is familiar with these days. His slippery relationship with sleep usually came in two forms—the restless tossing and turning of an overactive mind, or the screaming, gasping nightmares that leave him staring at the ceiling, too afraid to close his eyes.

But this… this is nice.

He’s warm beneath the covers. Almost too warm. The solid weight beside him throws off heat that’s just uncomfortable enough to drag Stiles fully back into the land of the living.

Curled up on his side, back pressed to Derek’s chest, Stiles can feel the even rise and fall of the werewolf’s breathing. There’s an arm flung across his body, holding him close, and Derek’s face is pressed up into the back of Stiles’ neck. The gentle puffs of air send shivers down his spine and despite the heat radiating out, Stiles feels too content to move.

He knows they need to get up. But right now, it doesn’t feel fair to wake Derek up, to drag him from his peaceful slumber back into the nightmare he’s currently living in. So, Stiles stays quiet and lets himself drift for a while longer. He’s almost back to sleep when there is a knock on the doorframe.

“You boys awake?”

“Almost,” Stiles mumbles, squinting up at his dad. He can feel Derek waking and shifting behind him. “We’ll be down soon.” He waits for his dad to leave and rolls over to face Derek.

“Hey.” He can’t help himself. Stiles reaches out to smooth back the sleep-rumpled hair that’s fallen across Derek’s temple.

“Hey.” Derek closes his eyes, relaxing into the touch, so Stiles keeps going.

“We’re going to figure this out today, okay?”

Derek nods. “But first, you need a shower,” he says, wrinkling up his nose dramatically.

“So rude, why do I even bother with you?” Stiles teases. After a decent night’s sleep, he’s in a good mood. He feels confident. They’re going to find a way to break the spell controlling Derek’s shift and then they’re going to figure out how to send the sorcerer packing.

“You need anything from the guestroom?” Stiles asks, throwing back the covers and making sure they land on Derek’s head. He stands, walking to his closet to find some clean clothes.

“Yeah, I’ll grab some things.” Derek drags the sheets down off his face, his expression more fond than annoyed. “Though we might need to go back to the loft today, I’m running out of clothes.”

“You know, last time I checked, we owned a washing machine,” Stiles tells him, snagging a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. He leads the way out of the room, clothes in hand.

As he steps out into the hall, Derek lets out a soft ‘ _oof_ ’ and Stiles spins to see what the matter is.

“Shit, I forgot!” He hastily swipes his foot through the mountain ash lining the doorway.

Derek has one hand on his face, rubbing it where he’d smacked into the barrier.

“I’m so sorry.” He bites his lip to keep from laughing. He can imagine what Derek must have looked at and he snickers and the thought. “Sorry,” he apologises again.

“It’s not funny,” Derek grumbles, carefully stepping into the hall like he expects to run into the barrier again.

Stiles doesn’t bother to hide his grin now. “Come on, it’s a little bit funny.”

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes past towards the guestroom. Stiles waits for him to grab a change of clothes and then they head for the bathroom together.

“Same rules as before,” Stiles tells him. “No peeking.”

Derek smirks but does as he’s told, sitting on the edge of the bath and dutifully looking away while Stiles undresses.

When it’s his turn to shower he makes a big show of stripping off his shirt.

“You’re the worst,” Stiles mutters, face flushing while he looks _anywhere_ but at the naked werewolf. He catches movement in the mirror and looks up, catching Derek’s gaze again. “I can’t believe you’re such a huge tease!”

He stares down at his hands, examining them with a single-mindedness until he hears the shower door roll shut. The patterned glass hides Derek’s stupid face, and stupid body and stupid—Stiles isn’t going to think about it.

When they finally get downstairs his dad has already finished breakfast and is getting ready to leave for work. He watches from the dining room table while Stiles rummages around in the kitchen.

“Will you two be right today?” John asks. “I could call in sick.”

“No, you can’t.” Stiles drops two slices of bread into the toaster and stares his dad down. “You’ve taken too many days off because of the pack. We’ll be fine here.” He looks over at Derek. “We’re going to get everyone over, then go talk to Deaton.”

The Sheriff looks uncertain. “You’ll call me if anything happens?”

“Yeah Dad. Go,” Stiles shoos him off, “you’ll be late.”

Reluctantly, John stands. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

He leaves, hesitating by the door for a moment before shaking his head and walking outside. A few minutes later, they hear the rumble of the cruiser backing out of the drive.

The toaster pops and Stiles hands Derek a plate before inserting two more slices of bread and starting the coffee machine. “You know where everything is,” Stiles tells him, pushing Derek out of his way. “Make yourself useful.”

Derek finds the peanut butter in the pantry and puts it on the bench with a knife. The coffee machine beeps, so Derek grabs two mugs and makes them both coffee. He brings the drinks across, handing one of the mugs to Stiles and freeing up his hands to spread his toast with a healthy layer of peanut butter.

Moving around the kitchen, ducking out of each other’s way, Stiles can almost pretend that nothing is wrong. He takes the knife, following Derek’s lead and smothers his toast with peanut butter.

The move across to sit at the table and Stiles snags Derek’s phone. They eat in companionable silence while Stiles texts the pack.

“Okay, so,” he says finally, slice of toast in one hand, Derek’s phone in the other. His thumb moves rapidly across the keyboard as he shoves the toast in his mouth to free up that hand for his mug of coffee. “Scott and Isaac are on their way. They’re gonna stop and pick up Malia and Kira on the way over.”

The phone chirps again. Stiles frowns.

“Apparently, Boyd and Erica are out looking for Mr Magic Man.” His fingers fly across the keyboard. “They shouldn’t be looking for him on their own. It’s too dangerous.”

“Can you call them back?”

“I don’t know if they’ll listen,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Scott’s the alpha. If he told them to—”

“They’ll listen,” Derek assures him, licking peanut butter from his fingers. “Ask them to come back.”

Stiles’ eyes are glued to Derek’s hands. “Yeah, okay.” He taps away at the phone, not bothering to look down at the screen until the phone beeps again. “They’re heading back.” He lets out a relived sigh and puts the phone down to finish his breakfast.

* * *

Stiles is nervous. It’s been a few days since the pack was last all together and Stiles has no idea how Derek is going to react. It could all be fine, or it could be a disaster.

He keeps a careful eye on Derek when Lydia arrives. She’s the first to get there and honestly, the one Stiles is most looking forward to seeing.

Still, he keeps one hand on Derek’s knee as Lydia lets herself into the house, remembering what Derek had said about Stiles keeping him grounded.

“I’m okay,” Derek tells them as Lydia cautiously makes her way over to the couch where Stiles’ research is still spread out.

“You will be,” Lydia says, voice unwavering. “You’ve got the two brightest people in all of Beacon Hills, and… the rest of the pack, I suppose.” She’s smiling as she jokes and the tone in the room begins to lighten.

She looks over Stiles’ research. There are piles of printed paper littering the entire coffee table and the floor around it.

Derek hovers nearby while Stiles shows Lydia everything he’s found on breaking spells.

“You could have a go,” he tells her. “Maybe you can break whatever spell is affecting Derek.”

“Stiles.” Lydia puts down the papers she’d been shuffling through. “We both know my magic doesn’t work like that,” she reminds him.

“Please?” Stiles asks. “Just try it. What do we lose by you having a go?”

Lydia’s mouth tightens to a thin line as she looks from Stiles to Derek. “I don’t want you to be mad when it doesn’t work,” she says, focusing back on Stiles.

“Fine.” Stiles turns to Lydia. “I promise I won’t get mad and I won’t hold it against you if it doesn’t work. We just—we have to at least try.”

They don’t have the materials for any of the more complex spells, so they search through the papers to find one of the simpler ones.

Lydia’s voice fades out as she finishes reading through the spell and the three of them stand there. Waiting. Stiles fidgets, watching Derek closely for any hint of a change.

“How do we know if it’s worked?” Lydia asks, breaking the silence.

“I don’t—” Derek holds up his hands, scrutinising them like they hold all the answers. “I don’t feel any different. Maybe you need to leave the room,” he suggests, glancing up at Stiles. “So we can test it.”

“No way.” Stiles shakes his head vehemently. “I can’t risk you tearing the house apart.” He tries to phrase it as a joke to hide the apprehension he feels, but it falls flat. “I feel like Dad might object to that.”

Lydia frowns, looking back through the spell. “How are we supposed to test it otherwise?” She asks.

“I don’t know,” Stiles argues. “But I can’t risk leaving alone. He could hurt you or he could run off again.”

“You’ve got to at least try.”

“No.”

Derek interrupts their arguing. “We could use mountain ash.”

Stiles looks at him, face twisting in frustration. “I don’t like using mountain ash against you,” he says. “You know I don’t. I’m not going to trap you in a cage.”

“Well,” Derek’s voice is quiet. “It’s not your decision to make, Stiles,” he says. “It’s mine. Get the mountain ash.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. Derek’s right, Stiles knows he is but the idea of putting him in a cage still chafes.

Finally, fed up with Stiles’ hesitation and wanting to get on with it, Derek turns and starts moving towards the stairs forcing Stiles to follow him.

“Derek wait.” Stiles chases him upstairs. “I’m sorry.” He hovers in the doorway and watches the werewolf pace around the room.

“You keep asking me to trust you,” Derek says, scowling at the floor. “Trust that you want to help me. Trust that you’ll figure this out and I do, Stiles.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his expression lightening to something more earnest. “If anyone can work this out, it’s you.”

Stiles takes a half-step into the room.

“But—” Derek continues before Stiles can say anything. “That trust has to go both ways.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“And I need you to trust me too.”

“I do,” Stiles insists, hurrying to cover the distance between them. “I’m just scared I’m going to hurt you.”

The werewolf huffs a small amused breath. “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m the werewolf, you’re the scrawny human.”

“I’m not _that_ scrawny,” Stiles grumbles.

Derek stands, snagging Stiles’ hand to reel him in.

“You’ve got to trust me.”

“I do. I will.” Stiles closer in to Derek, wrapping his arms around the werewolf’s waist. “This is so stupid,” he mumbles against Derek’s chest. “I feel like I should be comforting you, not the other way round.”

“You are,” Derek tells him, arms tightening around Stiles’ shoulders. They stand there for another minute, until Stiles reluctantly drops his arms.

“Okay, let’s go test this out.” He grabs the jar of mountain ash off the desk and they head back downstairs to Lydia.

They make some space in the middle of the room, pushing the coffee table and the couch up against the wall. Then, Stiles takes a handful of ash and uses it to draw a circle around Derek.

“Okay big guy, have at it.”

The change is almost instant. As soon as Stiles is out of the room, Derek starts pacing around the circle, his glowing eyes locked on Lydia. Stiles watches from the front window, heart hammering in his chest as Derek roars and swipes at the magical shield between himself and the banshee.

It didn’t work.

Stiles rushes back into the house.

“Derek?” He draws the werewolf’s attention away from Lydia. “Hey, it’s just me.” He steps around the edges of the circle, forcing Derek to keep turning until his back is to Lydia.

“Hey, Lyds, could you give us a second?” Stiles keeps his eyes pinned on Derek while he speaks. “I think I need to break the circle. Go up to my room and close the door. I’ll call you when it’s safe to come down.”

He gives it a minute so that Lydia has plenty of time to go upstairs, then crouches to swipe a line in the ash surrounding Derek.

The werewolf stands still, nostrils flaring at the scent of another person in the house.

“Just look at me,” Stiles soothes. “I’m right here. There’s no one else.” He takes a tentative step towards Derek, talking softly the whole time. “Should have put another circle around both of us. That probably would have been smarter. Oh well, guess we’ll know that for next time.” Another step and he can almost reach out and touch Derek.

Snarling, Derek backs away.

“None of that,” Stiles chides gently. “I know you don’t want to stay like this. So, it would be nice if you could work with me.”

Derek lashes out with a clawed hand.

Stiles stands his ground.

“I know you didn’t want to do that. Please Derek, let me help you.” He manages to get into Derek’s space and carefully, so carefully brings his hand up to grip Derek’s wrist.

Slowly, the glow disappears from Derek’s eyes and the fangs retract back into his mouth.

“Fuck.”

“Right back at’cha buddy.”

They try again, because neither Stiles nor Lydia are the kind of people to give up easily. As the morning wears on though, Derek seems to sink further and further into himself when nothing seems able to counteract the spell.

No one is in a particularly good mood when Derek’s phone chirps a message alert.

 **_Scott:_ ** _Erica and Boyd caught the scent of another werewolf. Going to go check it out._

“I guess they’re not coming,” Stiles says, reading the message over Derek’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

Derek shrugs, quickly typing out a response. “It could be nothing,” he says. “Just someone passing through.”

“But you don’t think so?” Lydia asks, coming to stand beside them.

“The last few weeks, the last few days especially, there’s been a strain on the pack bonds,” Derek explains. “Could be another pack has noticed and sent a scout to see what’s going on.”

“So, they’re a threat.”

“They could be,” Derek admits. “We don’t know yet.”

“We still need to talk to Deaton,” Stiles says. “We need to find out why this isn’t working.”

“I already told you why.” Lydia plants her hands on her hips. “I don’t have the right magic to break the spell.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles bites out, immediately regretting the words. “I’m sorry Lydia.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have— that wasn’t fair.”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t,” Lydia huffs, crossing her arms. “Derek is my friend too and I want this to work just as much as you do.” She reminds him. “I really wanted it to work Derek.”

“I know.” Derek leans against the arm of the couch. “So, what now?”

Stiles collects his keys from the kitchen counter. “Now we go talk to Deaton.”

* * *

They travel to the vet clinic in two cars.

“Deaton will know how to fix it,” Stiles says, glancing across at Derek. “He’ll have, I dunno, some herb or shit that will break the spell.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel as he speaks, using the quick rhythm to mask the sharp uptick of his heartbeat.

Derek says nothing and lets him ramble, so that’s what Stiles does. He talks the whole drive, only stopping when they pull into the little car park next to Lydia’s Prius.

“We’re going to fix this,” Stiles promises, reaching for Derek’s hand. “We’re going to find the answer and get you back in control.”

“Stiles—” Derek stares down at their entwined fingers. “If Deaton says it’s impossible, I don’t—” he looks across at Stiles. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“ _You won’t_ ,” Stiles insists.

“If it keeps getting worse, I will.” Derek gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze. “I- I can’t let that happen.”

“What are you saying?”

“If Deaton can’t fix this, I want you to promise me—”

“No.” Stiles tries to draw his hand away, but Derek holds it tight.

“Call Chris if you have to, but I won’t become a monster. Please?” Derek waits until Stiles gives him a single sharp nod, then releases his hand.

“It won’t come to that,” Stiles mutters, hopping out of the car. “I won’t let it.”

Deaton’s put the closed sign up on the front door, but left it unlocked, so Stiles, Derek and Lydia head straight in.

The vet is waiting for them in one of the larger examination rooms, restocking the supplies on the bench. As they enter the room, Stiles can feel Derek tense beside him and grabs his hand again.

“So, Derek,” Deaton replaces a jar back into the cupboard and turns to face them. “Scott tells me you’ve got yourself into quite the predicament. Care to fill me in a little more?”

Stiles catches Deaton up to speed, telling him about Derek’s episodes, about him running away and the man in the preserve.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I’m going to need to see it,” Deaton says, once Stiles has finished. “I need to fully understand what we’re working with. Derek?”

The werewolf hesitates.

“Hey.” Stiles steps in front of him. “I’m right here. I’ll pull you back.” He gives Derek’s hand a squeeze.

“We’ll need some mountain ash,” Derek says, turning to Deaton. “Just in case.”

The vet goes back to the cupboards to retrieve a large jar of the black powder and Stiles releases Derek’s hand to scoop up a palmful and draw a circle. He makes it large enough to take up the whole corner of the room, so that he’ll be able to step into it with Derek later.

“It happens faster if I leave the room,” Stiles explains, looking to Derek for permission.

Derek nods and Stiles steps out of the room.

He doesn’t go far—just shuts the door behind himself to block his scent from reaching Derek. It’s enough. Within moments of closing the door, Stiles can hear the snarls echoing from the room next door.

He bursts back into the examination room and moves towards Derek.

“Wait.” Deaton stands right at the edge of the mountain ash, studying Derek with a clinical interest. “Fascinating.” He turns to Stiles. “And you say you can bring him back? This I would be very interested to see.”

He steps back from the barrier and gestures for Stiles to go ahead.

Warily moving past the vet, Stiles rushes over to Derek.

“Hey big guy.” He stands as close as he can without crossing the barrier, keeping himself between Derek and the other occupants of the room. “You’ve given Deaton his show, time to change back now.”

Derek roars at him and swipes at the air, his claws clashing with the invisible barrier.

“Hey now,” Stiles scolds gently. “That’s no way to treat your favourite human.” He keeps his voice light, drawing Derek’s attention back whenever his gaze flicks to Lydia or Deaton. “Just focus on me, Der. I’m right here.” He steps over the line into Derek’s space.

The werewolf roars and snaps, his claws slashing out and Stiles only just manages to duck back out of the circle in time.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice steady and even while his heart races. “This isn’t you right now.” He takes a calming breath and steps back up to the circle.

“Stiles—” Lydia starts.

“I’ve got this,” Stiles reassures her, stepping over the line. “We’ve got this. Right Der?” He moves slower this time, keeping his movements smoother as he closes the gap between himself and Derek.

Derek watches him warily but doesn’t snap again.

“There we go.” Stiles reaches for a clawed hand. “See, not so bad. We’ve got this.” He lets Derek come to him and bury his face in his neck.

Derek’s shoulders heave as he breaths in Stiles scent and the claws and fangs and fur retreat.

“That’s the last time,” he gasps, his breath coming in warm puffs against Stiles’ neck. “I can’t do this again.”

“I know,” Stiles tells him over and over. “I know.” He doesn’t move until Derek’s breathing has calmed, and then all he does is glance back over his shoulder at Deaton. “So?” He asks. “Can you help us?”

“Interesting.” The vet watches them, unmoving from his spot beside the bench, seemingly unconcerned by Derek’s display of violence. It’s not Derek that he focuses on now though. “Have you ever heard of a spark, Stiles?”

“No.” Stiles frowns. “Should I have? Will it help him?”

“What is a spark?” Lydia asks, coming forward now that Derek has calmed down.

“A spark is… potential.”

“Well that answers exactly zero of our questions,” Stiles mutters to Derek.

“It’s the potential for power,” Deaton continues, ignoring Stiles. “And a great amount of it… with the right kindling.” He pauses and Stiles can only assume it’s for dramatic effect.

“So, it’s magic?” Stiles prompts, turning fully to face the vet. He keeps one hand linked with Derek’s, their fingers interlocked and presses into the werewolf’s side to keep him grounded. “You think the sorcerer dude wants a spark? Why? Will it give him more power?”

“A spark isn’t a what,” Deaton tells them, gravely. “It’s a who.”

“It’s a person.” Lydia whispers, realisation dawning.

“So—" Derek’s voice is still rough. “We need to find this person, before he does.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Deaton assures them. “Because he’s looking for Stiles.”

Derek and Lydia both turn to stare at him.

“Uh, no.” Stiles shakes his head, backing away from the vet. “I don’t—there’s nothing special about me. I’m one hundred percent human. This—" he gestures to himself, “—is a no magic zone.”

“You’re a spark Stiles.”

Stiles fights the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not possible.”

“Mr Stilinski, you have the potential to do very powerful magic. In fact, you have.”

Stiles laughs at this. “I’ve never done magic before in my life.”

“You do magic every time you use that jar of mountain ash, I gave you.”

“What? That’s not magic. That’s just… that’s just what mountain ash does.”

Deaton shakes his head. “You used a mere handful of dust to create that circle,” he says, gesturing the ash on the floor. “Lydia here would not have been able to do that.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I’ve been doing magic for two years, without knowing it’s magic?” Stiles can hear his voice rising, but he doesn’t care. “Why am I only learning this now?”

“I only had a hunch when I first gave you the mountain ash. I wasn’t certain it would work.”

“That makes it even worse!” Stiles paces withing the confines of the mountain ash. “If I hadn’t been able to complete that first circle, we would have all died! Me, Derek, Cora. You put us all in danger!”

Deaton’s expression turns smug. “But the circle held.”

“Oh, that is so not the point!” Stiles snaps. He rakes a hand through his hair, the one Derek isn’t clinging to for dear life. “Okay, whatever, so I’m the spark.” He looks up at Deaton. “You called it potential for magic. So, I can do magic?”

“What you did before,” Deaton gestures to Derek. “Bringing Derek back to himself, could have only been done with magic.”

“I—” Stiles’ heart beats in his throat. “So, can I break the spell?”

“No.”

It feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath him.

“What? What do you mean _no_? You must know some sort of spell. Some cure. There has to be _something_!”

“There is nothing that can be done. Perhaps if the sorcerer who cast the spell died but—"

“This is bullshit,” Stiles hisses. He storms forward and kicks his foot through the mountain ash to break the circle. “You’ve all given up without even trying! But I won’t. I’m not going to give up, Derek.”

Lydia tries to grab Stiles’ hand. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Stiles pulls his hand from her grip to wave it at Deaton. “He’s not going to help us. There’s no point us hanging around so I’m going home and I’m going to figure out how to fix this.”

“Stiles.” Deaton’s tone is grave. “If the sorcerer finds you, he will drain your magic to make himself stronger.”

“What would happen?” Derek asks, tugging on Stiles’ hand to pull him back.

“Your magic is a part of you. Magic can be drained to an extent, but if it is drained completely you will die.”

“The sorcerer can suck my dick,” Stiles bites out, turning for the door. “Derek, let’s go.”

They walk out to the car, Stiles still fuming. He unlocks the door and sits, gripping the wheel with white knuckles, but he doesn’t start the engine.

“I’m still going to fix this Derek.” At this point, Stiles knows he sounds like a broken record.

“How?” Derek slides into the passenger seat.

“I don’t know.” Stiles fumbles to fit the key into the ignition. “But I’m going to fix it.”

The plan starts formulating in Stiles’ mind as he drives, mind going one hundred miles an hour.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” Derek shifts in his seat to face Stiles. “You’re thinking that maybe you could go to the sorcerer directly and bargain with him. Give yourself up in return for him leaving me and the pack alone.”

Stiles feels his face heat. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Stiles, I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself.”

“Says the guy who literally asked me to put him down, not twenty minutes ago,” Stiles counters. “So, tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you were in my position.”

“I _am_ in your position.”

“You’re _not_ in my position.” Stiles tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “He wants power, _my_ power. You… it’s like he decided to do this to you for shits and giggles. I have leverage.”

“He will kill you Stiles,” Derek argues, his voice rising.

“I have magic!”

“That you don’t know how to use!” Derek grabs one of Stiles hands and refuses let go. “That you might not even be able to use. You heard Deaton. It’s potential.”

“Deaton is a shady bastard who has never once given us the full facts unless it directly benefits him. And I already used it on you.” Stiles tugs his arm, hissing at the bite of claws in his wrist. “Let go of me.”

“Stiles, you _can’t_ do magic.”

“I can learn!”

“Not even you can learn magic overnight.”

“What do you suggest then?” Stiles yells, wrenching his arm free.

“I don’t know Stiles!” Derek roars, his fangs dropping.

“Shit.” Stiles swerves into the gutter. He glances across at Derek and all the fight goes out of him. He reaches out with one arm, but Derek shrinks away from him.

“Pull over.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles pulls up at the curb and stops the engine. “Hey, talk to me. You’re okay Derek. It’s okay.”

Derek presses himself against the far door. “It’s getting harder,” he gasps, “to pull it back.”

“I know, just breath with me Derek.” Stiles presses one of Derek’s hands to his chest so Derek can feel the rise and fall. “In and out. You’ve got this.”

They sit and breathe until Derek’s chest stops heaving.

“You ready to go home?” Stiles asks, turning the key in the ignition. The engine whines but doesn’t start. Stiles tries again, pumping the gas. “Really?” He slams his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

He moves to open the door, but Derek throws an arm across Stiles’ chest. His nostrils flare and his eyes flash blue.

“Don’t get out of the car,” he growls. “He’s here.”

“What?” Stiles twists in his seat to look out the back. “We’re sitting ducks out here.” He tries turning the key again. “Come on. Come on. _Start!”_ The engine splutters and dies. “Please start.” Stiles tries again. “ _Please_.”

The engine roars to life.

“Yes!” Stiles whoops and shoves the gear stick into first. The Jeep bunny hops but doesn’t stall as he guns it down the street. “Do you have your phone?” He asks, eyes glued on the rear-view mirror.

“Where are we going?” Derek pulls his cell from his pocket and starts tapping through to the contact list.

“I don’t know… get the pack to meet us at the loft?”

The Jeep splutters and dies, rolling to a halt in the middle of the road.

“Or here,” Stiles suggests, eyes wide. “Here is good.”

“Stay here,” Derek says, dropping his phone. He reaches for the door handle.

“No.” Stiles grabs Derek by his shirt. “Don’t you dare get out of the car.”

“I can distract him while you get away.”

Derek doesn’t give Stiles a chance to respond. He leaps from the car, snarling and growling as he charges at the sorcerer.

Stiles watches on in horror at the scene plays out behind him. The sorcerer stands his ground right until the very last minute. The he opens his hand and blows a purple powder in Derek’s face. The werewolf drops to the ground and doesn’t get back up.

“Derek!” Stiles screams, searching the car for something, anything he can use as a weapon. He grabs a handful of mountain ash from the glove compartment and clambers from the Jeep. “What did you _do_?”

The sorcerer doesn’t even look at him. He kneels beside Derek’s prone form, hands reaching out.

“Don’t touch him!” Stiles tosses the mountain ash and it falls in a perfect line between Derek and the sorcerer. This gets his attention and he straightens, his eyes boring into Stiles.

“I guess you’re not so human after all,” he grins, walking towards Stiles.

He must do something, some spell, because Stiles can’t move. He can’t escape.

The sorcerer blows the same purple dust in his face and it all goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so freaking happy to have this chapter posted! This chapter has been the bane of my existence for almost a year! It was my own stupid fault. I changed my mind about a plot point while editing an earlier chapter which basically screwed this chapter and I was stuck for months! It was so bad I actually stopped writing entirely...
> 
> In the end, I scrapped the entire chapter and just rewrote the damn thing and here it is!! The chapter is done and I am sobbing with joy.
> 
> Just two more chapters to go now, which I am hoping to post over the next two weekends.
> 
> I really appreciate everyone who has read and left kudos and comments so far! It has honestly kept me going with my writing, so thank you so much!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of vomiting right at start just in you can't read that kind of thing.

His head hurts.

There’s an angry pulsating mass behind his eyes that throbs along in time with his heartbeat. It drags Stiles up from the void.

He rolls onto his side, feeling groggy and nauseated. The movement makes his stomach heave and he retches, barely managing to scramble onto his hands and knees to avoid vomiting on himself. 

Bringing his right arm up to wipe his mouth, the left one jerks at the motion and Stiles almost overbalances onto his face.

“Stiles?”

He flops back, leaning against the wall and brings up his arms to stare at his hands. There’s rope wrapped securely around his wrists, binding them together.

“Stiles.”

Blinking to clear his blurry vision, Stiles looks up as the room swims slowly back into view.

 _“Stiles!”_ The tone is more urgent this time, the voice familiar. Looking across to the opposite corner of the dimly lit room, Stiles’ gaze falls upon the figure in the corner.

“Derek?” His voice cracks on the word. “Where are we?”

He shifts, scooting back to get into a more upright seated position. His head feels heavy on his neck, flopping forward to examine the rope around his wrists. They’re bound tight, the coarse fibres biting into Stiles’ skin.

“It’s some kind of warehouse.” Derek’s voice is strained, almost pained but the shadows shrouding the far corner prevent Stiles from getting a good look at the werewolf. “I’m not sure. Are you okay, you’ve been out for a while?”

Stiles swallows back another wave of nausea. “I think so.” He takes stock of his body; he feels dizzy and ill, but nothing really hurts. “I think he drugged me. I can’t—" the words stick on his tongue. “Everything’s just sorta foggy.”

“Pretty nasty combination of herbs, that.”

Stiles jerks at the new voice. He’d assumed they were alone and now he cranes his neck to see the figure standing off to the side of the room.

“Gets the job done though.”

The sorcerer—it has to be the sorcerer, Stiles thinks—walks over to stand over him. Stiles squints up at him, his head still spinning lazily from the purple powder, then recoils from the hand that reaches for his neck.

His stomach protests the jerking movement, churning unpleasantly and he wants to throw up again.

“You’ll be feeling the effects for a while,” the sorcerer says, his fingers coming to rest against the fluttering pulse in Stiles’ neck. “Usually clears up after an hour or two, but you’ll be dead by then.”

“What are you—?” his voice breaks and the words choke off. His mouth is dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. How long have they been missing for? There are no windows in the dark little room, no way to estimate the passage of time. Does the pack know they’re gone or are they giving them space after Stiles’ outburst at the clinic?

What if the sorcerer has the pack too?

“Stiles—it’s Stiles isn’t it?” The sorcerer’s fingers slip around to grasp Stiles’ chin, tugging his face up to meet his gaze. “I’ve got a better question for you.” His eyes burn into Stiles’. “Do you even realise the power you hold?” He scoffs. “You’re one of a kind Stiles.”

“You hear that Derek?” Stiles asks, jerking his face back. “I’m special.” He turns back to the sorcerer. “You know, I’ve been trying to tell Derek this for years and he’s never believed me.”

The sorcerer watches him for a moment, gaze cold and calculating. “How did you do it?” He glances over at Derek. “The other night, the wolf should have torn you apart, but you were able to make him transform back.”

“You said it yourself. I’m special.”

“Tell me.”

“It really isn’t that impressive,” Stiles says, shrugging his shoulders. “Derek just likes me.”

“No.” The sorcerer shakes his head. “That kind of magic requires power, and I want it.”

“You can have it,” Stiles insists. “Just let Derek go. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

This time the sorcerer scoffs. “Your little werewolf has everything to do with this. Derek here is the whole reason I came to Beacon Hills. Finding you was an added bonus— the cherry on top.”

“But Derek—"

“He’s a Hale,” the sorcerer explains, walking off to the side off the room. “What do you know about this town?” He asks, dragging a chair into the centre of the floor. “I’m assuming you’ve lived here your whole life—you do have that homegrown look about you.”

“I can promise you Beacon Hills is not all that exciting,” Stiles says. He pulls his legs in, hugging them against his chest. “The cinema is shit. Gets all the new movies about two months after the rest of the country and I’m always getting spoiled before I can see them.”

“Beacon Hills is exactly what the name suggests.” The sorcerer walks back over to Stiles. “It is a Beacon. Creatures from all walks of life are drawn here for one specific reason.”

“Is it to monologue at their captive audience?” Stiles asks.

The sorcerer ignores him.

“It’s the Nemeton Stiles. The Nemeton is what gives this land it’s power and whoever holds the land, holds that power. Currently, the Hale pack holds that power. Did you know that Beacon Hills has been Hale pack territory for four generations? For as long as this town has existed, there has been a Hale to protect it.”

“Okay. And?”

“And now the Hales are gone.”

“Well that’s rude,” Stiles says, tilting his head over towards Derek’s corner. “There’s one right here.”

“He’s not the Alpha. Not anymore. And your new Alpha is a child.”

“Hey, Scott maybe be a little clueless sometimes—"

“And more importantly, he’s not a Hale.”

“Maybe not by blood,” Stiles counters. “But they were all bitten by a Hale, so technically this town is still protected by the Hale pack.”

“Word gets around, you know.” The sorcerer crouches near Stiles. “What was once a strong and powerful pack is now a group of teenagers. Others will be looking to take advantage.”

“So that’s what you’re doing? Taking advantage?” Stiles scoffs. “You don’t need Derek for that. Let him go.”

“You know I can’t do that Stiles. Look at him.” The sorcerer rises to his full height. “He’s dangerous. Practically rabid.” He turns and walks over to Derek, muttering under his breath.

From within his mountain ash prison, Derek’s eyes go blue and he snarls.

“It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it? The last dregs of the Hale pack, killed by a born Hale wolf.”

“Don’t,” Stiles begs, scrambling onto his knees. “You can take my power. Whatever, I don’t care. Just, please, let him go.”

Derek snarls again, but he’s not looking at the sorcerer, he’s looking at Stiles. His blue eyes stare unblinking and Stiles can’t look away. He feels sick at complete the lack of emotion in Derek’s expression.

The Sorcerer turns from Derek and stalks back towards Stiles.

“Please.” Stiles moves to stand, stepping forward on unsteady legs. He doesn’t get far. The sorcerer grabs the rope around his wrists and shoves Stiles back into the wall. “Jesus,” Stiles wheezes. “You’re fucked up.”

 _Crack._ Faster than Stiles can react, the sorcerer slaps him across the face. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” Stiles pants, twisting to wipe his mouth against his shoulder. “You’ll kill me? You’ve already used that threat.”

“Don’t worry Stiles, I’m not going to kill you.” The sorcerer grins and drags Stiles, stumbling, towards the centre of the room. “I’m going to drain you of your spark until there is almost nothing left. And then, when you’re too weak to stand, _he_ is going to kill you.”

Stiles goes cold and digs his heels into the ground. “No.”

“No? You really think you can stop me? Your little wolf is rabid.” Derek is still snarling in the mountain ash circle. “Completely feral. Whatever you think you have with him?” The sorcerer shakes his head and shoves Stiles towards the chair. “There’s no bringing him back this time Stiles.”

“Please don’t hurt him.” Stiles tugs at the bindings around his wrists, tries jerking back on the rope but the sorcerer forces him down onto the chair and crowds into Sties’ personal space.

Stiles kicks his feet out, but the sorcerer dodges around to stand behind him. His rough, calloused hands grip tight on both sides of Stiles’ temple, squeezing. One of his rings catch in Stiles’ hair, tugging painfully and Stiles can’t shake out of the grip.

A low steady murmur flows from the sorcerer’s lips. Stiles holds his breath against the stench of the man’s breath, resisting for as long as possible until his lungs feel like they’re bursting, and he chokes out a gasp. It feels like someone has reached inside his chest and is tugging on the deepest part of him, on his soul. Suddenly it’s as if some damn inside him breaks and Stiles can feel… something. His magic?

It burns as it is pulled from his body, searing Stiles from the inside out.

Stiles shuts his eyes against the agony of his magic being torn from him. A scream rips from his throat and he thrashes against the chair. There is a blinding flash of light, bright enough to burn from behind closed eyes and the hands on his forehead are ripped away as they’re both thrown backwards.

Lying on his back amidst the splinters of the chair, Stiles blinks up at the ceiling, trying to regain his bearings. His head spins from the knock on the floor and his limbs feel heavy. Sleep drags at his consciousness, threatening to pull him under but Stiles shakes it off.

He props himself up on unsteady elbows and surveys the room. The sorcerer has been thrown clear across to the other side where he lays unmoving. The few pieces of furniture are all broken, their pieces scattered around the room. In the far corner, Derek slowly climbs to his feet. The mountain ash circle that had caged him is gone, blown away from the explosion of magic.

“Derek?”

The werewolf fixes his gaze on Stiles, his eyes glow blue and there is no sign of recognition from within. Stiles scrambles back and away from the wolf stalking towards him.

“Derek. Please don’t do this.”

His back hits the wall. There is nowhere else to go.

The werewolf roars.

Stiles stands slowly, hands stretched out in front of his body in what he prays is a non-threatening gesture. Stiles takes his eyes off the wolf for a second, feverishly scanning the room for something, anything. Derek is quickly closing the distance between them.

To the left.

A door.

Stiles spots it and bolts.

His sweaty hands slip on the handle and he loses precious seconds before he manages to tug it open. The room beyond is pitch black but Stiles doesn’t even think about it, he staggers blindly through the door.

He shuts it on the other side. It won’t slow Derek down by much, if at all, but at least Stiles will be able to hear it when Derek follows him through.

Picking his way through the dark space, Stiles has no idea where he is. He has no idea how big the building is or where the nearest exit is. He’s running blind, his footsteps echoing through the empty warehouse.

Stiles’ breaths are loud in his ears as he stumbles through the darkness and into a wall. There must be some kind of office space—somewhere Stiles can barricade himself while he thinks of a plan.

His hand catches on a door handle. Skidding to a stop, Stiles tugs on the handle but the door doesn’t budge. He moves on, keeping his hands against the wall to guide him around the edge of the room. His eyes are slowly beginning to adjust to the dim, picking out the vague impression of shapes and shadows. The sorcerer must have been keeping them in an office, because this new room is huge and cavernous.

The slam of a door opening echoes through the darkness behind him, followed by the loud thud of footsteps. Derek is stalking him like he is prey, taking his time, knowing he can outrun and outlast Stiles.

He’s running out of time.

Stifling a sob, Stiles traces his fingers around another door, grasping for the handle. He can hear the low growl and knows if he turns around, he’ll be able to see the piercing blue glow in the dark.

Stiles throws himself against the door. It’s locked tight.

He pants, muscles burning and chest heaving from exertion. The sorcerer’s spell to drain his magic has left Stiles feeling weak and shaky, but he can’t give up.

A howl pierces through the silence.

Stiles runs. He needs to put distance between himself and Derek. There’s no point hiding out in the open warehouse, if he can’t get into another room or out of the building, there’s no point. Derek will sniff him out in an instant.

He stumbles, tripping and sprawling across the concrete. The sting of his knees doesn’t even register as Stiles feels around for the thing that sent him tumbling. A piece of metal—a pipe. It’s long and jagged and sturdy looking. Stiles snatches it up and clambers to his feet. Beneath the thunderous racing of his heart, he can hear Derek’s measured steps. The werewolf is almost on him.

There’s another wall up ahead. Stiles has reached the corner of the warehouse. Maybe if he follows it around, he’ll find the exit. He pivots, feet sliding on the dusty floor.

Derek blocks his path.

Stiles raises the pipe in front of his body, clutching it with both hands. The rope around his wrists limits his mobility, but he can still swing it like a bat. He keeps it up between them, looking for a way around the werewolf.

“I know you don’t want to do this.” His voice shakes. “I don’t want to do this either. Okay big guy?”

Derek growls and steps forward.

“Please don’t make me do this,” Stiles raises the bat higher and steps to the side, trying to edge away. “Remember what we talked yesterday? About anchors? You’re my anchor and I’m yours and I really need you to snap out of it now Derek.”

With a roar, Derek launches himself at Stiles. The human swings wildly with his makeshift weapon, catching the werewolf across the chest. Derek bellows and swipes at Stiles, sending him flying.

Stiles can’t break his fall with his hands still bound and his head smacks painfully against the floor. It hurts. It hurts a lot. He drops the pipe and it rings against the cement as it skitters into the shadows. His chest burns as he struggles for breath, hyper aware that Derek is stalking towards him.

“Derek.” Stiles holds up his hands. “Please.”

Derek keeps coming so Stiles rolls onto his stomach, reaching for the pipe again. He rakes the rope over the jagged end, desperately trying to free his hands. They slip and the metal bites into his skin but Stiles just bites back a grunt and keeps sawing. The rope frays but it’s not enough. Derek is right behind him.

Stiles crawls onto his knees, ignoring the pounding in his head, and manages to shuffle a couple of feet before a hand clamps around his ankle and drags him back down. Fingers scrape against the rough cement, fumbling for purchase. Stiles catches his weapon and twists onto his back, swinging it with all his might.

The metal vibrates with the force of connecting with Derek’s skull.

With a howl that reverberates through the empty room, Derek drops Stiles’ ankle to clutch at his head. Taking his chance, Stiles is up on his feet and staggering off, swaying like a drunkard but upright and moving away from the danger.

He hits another wall and follows it. There has got to be an exit. There is no way a building of this size doesn’t have several exits. It’s breaking all sorts of fire codes.

Stiles begins to suspect this is part of the sorcerer’s magic, keeping him trapped in this labyrinth, cursed to stumble around until Derek corners him and kills him.

Or.

Maybe Stiles can get to the sorcerer first.

Maybe, just maybe, Stiles can kill him, and this will all end.

It’s hard for Stiles to get his bearings running around in the dark. Plus, he’s pretty sure he’s got a concussion and that’s not going to do him any favours. He doesn’t want to stand still and risk Derek catching him, but he needs to take a moment to work out the direction he’s come from. If he can find the room he woke up in, perhaps he could find the sorcerer and then… and then he’ll have to play it by ear.

In the end, Stiles decides to just keep following the wall. If he keeps it on his left and just keeps running, eventually he should end up back where he started. Hopefully. Oh god, Stiles hopes he’s right.

He takes a few precious seconds to finish sawing at his bonds. The rope drops away and he almost lets out a sob of relief. With two hands he’s in a much better position to defend himself.

Stiles starts jogging, his head pounding with each step. He doesn’t bother with stealth, Derek will know exactly where he is, Stiles just needs to be just a little bit faster.

He vaults over an old wooden desk, ducks around a piece of machinery and just keeps moving forward.

He can hear Derek chasing him. The werewolf is shoving furniture, and breaking things, not bothering to dodge out of the way as he goes flying past.

Up ahead Stiles can see a thin sliver of light in the otherwise dark room.

Chest aching, Stiles puts on another burst of speed. Derek’s almost on top of him. One clear leap and Stiles is a goner.

Without slowing down, Stiles grips the doorframe and swings into the room. He barrels into the sorcerer and they both go down in a tangle of flailing limbs. Stiles loses his grip on his metal bar as he grapples with the druid. A fist catches him in the stomach and all the air punches out of his lungs. Stiles rolls so that he’s on top, one hand fisted in the guy’s shirt, the other pressed against his face. Stiles attempts to catch the druid’s hands, but another hand grips the back of his shirt and Stiles is dragged back and tossed like a ragdoll.

He lies stunned, half reclining against the wall. His ears are ringing, he feels bruised and battered all over, and there’s blood running down his hands from where he cut himself sawing through the rope.

“Derek,” Stiles wheezes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” It’s an effort to drag in a breath. “I promised you we’d fix this, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Derek’s half shifted, his face twisted into a gruesome mask, teeth bared. He towers over Stiles, his silhouette shifting and shrinking as skin and hair give way to fur and fang.

The sorcerer climbs shakily to his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothes. He stands behind Derek, his face twisted into a sick mask of glee.

Pushing himself up so that he’s sitting upright against the wall, Stiles keeps his eyes focused on the wolf. “I don’t blame you Derek,” he whispers. “This isn’t your fault.” The wolf advances, teeth bared in its foaming mouth. “Remember that later, this isn’t your fault.” A tear slips down his cheek and he scrunches his eyes shut.

The wolf’s breath is hot against his skin. Stiles tilts his head away, baring his throat. “Make it quick,” he stammers, tangling his fingers in the wolfs coarse fur. A cold nose presses the junction between his neck and shoulder. Stiles bites back the whimper that bubbles up. He can feel the growl vibrating through the wolf. “Do it.”

The wolf’s mouth stretches wide, powerful muscles bunch and release as Derek lunges, jaws snapping.

A scream tears through the warehouse, cutting off with a gurgling breath.

Stiles watches in a daze as the sorcerer clutches at his throat. Blood dribbles down over his fingers to splash onto the floor. He drops to the ground and lays still, his hands falling away to let the last of the blood drain out.

The wolf sniffs at the body then turns to Stiles.

“Derek?” Stiles rasps.

Derek won’t make eye contact. His silky ears are flat against his head and his tail is tucked between his legs.

“Derek, hey.” Careful not to make any sudden movements, Stiles shifts onto his hands and knees and crawls forwards. “You back with me big guy?” He stops in front of the wolf and sits back on his heels, heart racing.

Derek edges forwards, licking Stiles’ mouth and throat. Stiles falls back onto his ass and wraps his arms around the wolf.

A shudder ripples through the wolf and then they’re clutching each other on the cold hard floor of the warehouse.

“How did you—" Stiles lets his fingers trail down Derek’s back before tightening his grip around the werewolf’s waist.

Derek has his face buried in Stiles’ neck. “Anchor,” he replies, his breath tickling Stiles’ skin. “You keep me grounded, remember?” He looks up at Stiles and the younger man lets out an almost hysterical laugh which turns into a sob. Derek pulls him close and holds him while he shakes.

“Can we go home now?” Stiles asks once he’s calmed down.

Derek salvages his clothes the best he can, tugging on his torn jeans, and using his shirt to wrap up Stiles’ still sluggishly bleeding wrist.

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, Stiles can feel every bump and scrape on his body. His chest aches fiercely from Derek’s first swipe at him and his head pounds almost as bad as when he woke up.

The advantage of having a werewolf with him is that Derek is able to draw away enough of the pain for Stiles to stand and walk from the room. This time around he’s able to spot the exit immediately. Now that the sorcerer is dead, his magic is quickly fading away.

They stumble outside into the cool night air.

“How long were we in there for?” Stiles asks, staring up at the lit streetlight. They’d left the vet clinic around midday. He has no idea what time it is now.

He feels Derek shrug beside him and decides it’s not important right now. All that matters is getting home and finding the rest of the pack.

“So which way?” Stiles asks tiredly, staring down the road that stretches past the warehouse in both directions. Derek considers their options, then throws back his head and howls.

Moments later, he cocks his head. Stiles strains to listen but doesn’t hear anything.

“We’ll wait here,” Derek says. “The pack will come to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys, we're wrapping up!! One more epilogue-y chapter to go where the boys will talk about their feelings and get to live happily ever after.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and those of you who have left comments or kudos. It's really motivated me to keep going.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/). Come say hi.


	8. Chapter 8

Erica and Boyd are the first to arrive, jogging up the street with Malia trailing behind them.

“Oh my god.” Erica throws herself at Stiles, flinging her arms around his neck. “You jerks! We couldn’t find you!”

“What happened?” Derek asks, mouth twisted in mild amusement as Stiles stumbles under the force of Erica’s hug. “Last we heard you’d caught the scent of another wolf.”

“It turned out to be nothing,” Boyd explains, coming to stand with them. “Just passing through. Scott and Isaac met up with us to keep an eye on them until they moved on.”

“What happened to you guys?” Erica demands. She pulls back from Stiles and stands, hands on hips. “We felt the bond break. It just… vanished. Like it never even existed.”

“What?”

“Lydia called us. She was the first to find your Jeep,” Boyd says. “We tried tracking your scents, but it just kept leading us around in circles.”

“Until now,” Malia cuts in. “The bond just snapped back into place all of a sudden, then we heard Derek howl. You look like shit by the way.”

“You really do, Stilinski.” Erica nods in agreement, but despite the snarky tone, her eyes narrow in concern.

“Thanks for your support guys,” Stiles says, waving them off. He leans into Derek, aching and exhausted but okay after everything that had happened. All he needs now, is to shower off the dust and blood, and sleep for a week. “Where is everyone else?”

“They’re coming.” Boyd assures them. “We all split up to look for you, so we were spread out across the town when we heard the call.”

Derek cocks his head, listening for the rest of the pack. “I can hear them.”

A few minutes later, Stiles can hear them too; distant at first, he can soon make out the low rumble of the Jeep as it turns on to the street and they limp down the road to meet the cars.

His dad is out of his cruiser and wrapping his arms around Stiles before Scott has even put the Jeep in park.

“I thought we’d talked about this,” he lectures. “You were supposed to call me if anything happened.” He steps back to hold Stiles at an arms-length and takes in his haggard appearance. “What the hell happened Stiles? You’re covered in blood!”

Stiles looks down at his torn and dirty clothes. “It’s not my blood.” He picks at a stain on his shirt. “Not all of it at least. Some of it is my blood. I’m okay though.”

Scott rushes over. “Dude, what happened?”

Stiles pulls away from his dad.

“We got ambushed after leaving the clinic,” he say slowly, still piecing together the events leading up to their kidnapping. He wants nothing more to go home, but it seems clear that they’re not going anywhere until the pack gets the full story. He tells them about waking up in the warehouse, how the sorcerer had tried to drain his power. “Derek killed him,” he says finally. “It must have broken whatever spell was affecting the bond.”

No one says anything at first while they process what Stiles just said.

John is the first to break the silence.

“You saved him.”

Derek fidgets under the Sheriff’s steady gaze. “I almost killed him,” he mumbles.

“But you didn’t,” John points out. “You saved my kid. Thank you.”

“As wonderful as this is,” Stiles starts, “you know, Derek getting Dad’s approval and everything—" he sways, almost stumbling into Derek who quickly steadies him. “I would really like to sit and just… stay sat for a while.”

Whatever adrenaline might have been left over is well and truly gone now and Stiles feels shaky and weak. Derek wraps a possessive arm around his waist and helps Stiles over to the Jeep.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concern bleeding through in his tone.

Stiles nods wearily. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He lets Derek push him into the passenger seat of his car. “I’m just ready to go home.”

“We should probably take you to the hospital.” John hovers behind Derek. “Get you checked out first.”

“Dad, I look like I was kidnapped and mauled,” Stiles complains, tugging at one of the slashes through his shirt.

“You _were_ kidnapped,” John argues. “Stiles, the whole department has been out looking for you two.”

“Dad, I just want to go home. I do _not_ want to have to explain _this_.” He traces one of Derek’s claw marks with a finger.

“He’s right,” Derek tells John quietly, his face twists with guilt as he watches Stiles trace over another scratch. “If we take him in looking like this it’ll raise too many questions.”

Stiles lets his hands drop, regretting his earlier actions. He hadn’t meant to remind Derek of what he’d done while trapped by the spell. He certainly didn’t blame Derek for what had happened.

“Fine,” his dad concedes. “We’ll go home. But I’m calling Melissa.”

They head back to the Stilinksi house. Derek drives the Jeep and the rest of the pack split up, heading home now that Derek and Stiles have been found safe.

Melissa is waiting for them in her car when they arrive. John must have called her on the road. She bundles Stiles up in a big hug and pulls him inside to check out his injuries.

“He’s fine,” she says, wrapping up the cuts on his wrists before moving on to prod at his bruised ribs. “You’ll be sore for a bit, though.”

Stiles winces and sinks back into the couch. “That’s what this guy’s for.” He tilts his head up at Derek who is standing behind the sofa, his hands gripping the back of the couch.

“What, is that it?” Derek asks, but he lays a warm hand on the juncture between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, pulling at the pain.

“I’m sure you’ve got other qualities.” Stiles lets his head flop back against the cushions so he can grin drowsily up at Derek. “But this one’s my favourite right now.” He yawns. “What time is it?”

“It’s about one am,” John says, looking at his watch. “You should get some rest. We all should. Derek you can stay here if you want.”

Stiles makes grabby hands and waits for Derek to come around the couch.

“In the guest room,” John finishes with a pointed look at his son.

“Dad—”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me. He’s back to normal, he can sleep in the guestroom.”

Groaning, Stiles lets Derek tug him to his feet, muttering under his breath. “I did not get kidnapped by a psychotic sorcerer and almost killed for some mystical power I didn’t know I had, for this.”

“Stiles, it’s fine,” Derek assures him.

“No, it’s not.” Stiles raises his voice so his dad will hear. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be having nightmares for weeks. I am _not_ sleeping on my own.”

“Fine, just this once,” John says, giving in. “But nothing will be happening under my roof.”

“Dad, I am way too tired and sore to take part in anything right now.”

The Sheriff lets out a long sigh and Melissa smothers a smile.

Stiles lets Derek guide him up the stairs towards the bathroom. It’s a shock to see their reflections in the mirror. They’re both grimy from the dust and dirt in the warehouse and there is a rust coloured streak of dry blood across Stiles’ cheek.

He looks down at his hands. Melissa hand cleaned them up before applying a bandage to his wrists, but there’s dirt caked under his nails. Glancing back up at the mirror Stiles locks eyes with Derek’s reflection.

“Why’d you bring me in here?” He asks. “I just want to go to bed.”

“You’ll feel better once you’re clean,” Derek points out, pushing Stiles towards the shower. “I’ll wait for you outside.” He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Stiles stares at the door.

It’s weird.

In the last week he’s grown so used to doing everything with Derek by his side.

He tries not to think about it, instead putting all his concentration into staying awake long enough to scrub the worst of the dirt off. Derek was right. The hot water feels wonderful and he does feel better once he’s no longer sticky with sweat and blood.

Stiles dries off quickly. He only has his dirty clothes with him in the bathroom, so he wraps the towel around his waist and heads back to his room.

“You should shower too,” he tells Derek, shooing the werewolf from his room so he can get dressed in private. He pulls on a clean shirt and a pair of shorts before falling into bed.

He’s half asleep when he feels the bed dip behind him. Stiles rolls over and into Derek’s space. The werewolf is toasty warm. Stiles tucks his head against Derek’s chest and wraps his arms around him.

***

Stiles blinks groggily up at the ceiling, woken by his bladder’s desperate need to be relieved. He rolls out of bed and stumbles blearily towards the bathroom. It can’t have been more than a few hours since he’d gone to bed exhaustion still clings to him.

He finishes up in the bathroom and falls back into bed, asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

The next time he wakes, it’s because the sunlight from his window is shining directly onto his face. Stiles squints away from the glare and rolls over, stretching his legs into the empty space on the other side of the bed.

The sheets beside him are cold and empty.

Stiles sits up with a curse. Derek is gone. Again.

His heart leaps into his throat and Stiles rushes to push the covers away, tangling his legs in the sheets before forcing himself to stop and take a breath.

A glimpse at the alarm clock by the bed tells him it’s just after nine am. Derek’s an early riser, Stiles reasons with himself, he’s probably just downstairs.

He takes the steps, two at a time, eager to confirm that Derek has simply left him to sleep in.

“Morning Sleepyhead.” His dad looks up from the kitchen counter, his coffee raised halfway to his mouth. “Wasn’t expecting to see you up yet.”

“Is Derek still here?” Stiles asks, moving through the living room to check the kitchen.

“He went home to take care of a few things.”

“Oh.” Stiles tries not to be disappointed. It’s a good sign that Derek feels comfortable enough to go home. It means that there are no lingering effects from the sorcerer’s magic. Still, Stiles wishes Derek had woken him before he’d left.

He’s keenly aware of his dad watching him, so he plasters on a smile as he makes his way to the coffee machine.

“How do you feel?” John asks, pushing his mug towards Stiles for a refill.

“So hungry,” Stiles replies, filling up a mug and taking a large gulp of coffee. He pauses to take stock while he refills his dad’s cup. His wrists are sore, as is the scrape across his chest, but other than that he feels really good. “Actually, I feel much better than I thought I would, especially given I only got a few hours’ sleep.” He hands his dad’s mug back over, catching his dad’s amused smirk. “What?”

“You slept for an entire day kiddo.”

_“What?”_

“It’s Wednesday.”

Stiles groans, dropping his head onto the bench. “That word means nothing to me Dad. I haven’t kept track of time since I graduated.”

John rolls his eyes at his son’s dramatics.

“We got home at about one am yesterday,” John explains. “Then you slept through most of the day. You woke up a couple of times, but you were pretty much down for the count. You don’t remember?”

Stiles shakes his head. His stomach rumbles and he reaches for the toaster. “Guess that explains why my stomach feels like it’s eating itself.”

“Deaton said you’d probably sleep for a day or two, so we just left you to it.” John’s lips twitch, coffee mug hovering by his mouth. “Not sure how comfortable I am getting medical advice from the local vet.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” Stiles drops two pieces of bread into the toaster and stares into the red glow of the element. “So, did Derek say when he’d be back?”

“No, but—” John hesitates, contemplating his next words carefully. “Maybe you should give him a little space.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns, his head whipping up.

“Well, you’ve been living out of each other’s pockets the last few days, getting in each other’s spaces and well, Derek’s not exactly a social person.”

“Just spit it out Dad.”

“This thing—” he gestures vaguely to Stiles “—between you two didn’t exist before he got cursed or… spelled, or you know… I just think maybe you need to give him some time to come to terms with everything that’s happened and work out what he wants.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “What happened to me being an adult who can make my own decisions?” He asks.

“This isn’t about you Stiles.” John sighs. “Not entirely. Everything that’s happened over the last few weeks has pushed you two together. Derek was vulnerable and dependant on you to keep him human. That’s got to create all sorts of complicated feelings and I don’t want either of you to think that you owe it to the other to pursue some sort of relationship.”

The toaster pops, but Stiles ignores it.

“It’s not like that,” he insists. “I’m not going to force Derek into anything he doesn’t want.”

“I know kid.” John puts down his coffee. “Just, give Derek some space. He knows how you feel, right?”

“I think so.” Stiles shrugs.

“Then he’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

***

The window creaks opens but Stiles doesn’t hear it over the loud thump of his music. It’s not until he catches a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye that he looks up, flailing in his chair and tumbling onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” he groans, using the end of his bed to lever himself up off the floor. “You literally have a key to my house, why are you trying to send me to an early grave?”

“Sorry.” Derek perches on the end of the bed. He’s changed, which makes sense given it’s technically been two days since Stiles last saw him.

“No, you’re not.” Stiles reaches for his desk chair, rolling it over so that he can sit across from Derek. “You should have called me.”

“You don’t have a phone,” Derek reminds him.

“Eh, semantics.” Stiles shrugs grinning. “So…” he lets the word trail off. He’s been thinking of this moment all day—all the things he wants to say to Derek but now that he’s sitting opposite the werewolf. He doesn’t know how to begin.

“I still want this,” Derek mutters, just loud enough to be heard over the music. He’s got his head bowed, staring at his clasped fingers.

“What?”

“The other morning.” Derek looks up suddenly, his brows are drawn together in a scowl. “You said, if I still want this, want you, once it’s over that—"

“I’d be all over that?”

The scowl flickers into something softer and he lets go of the breath he’s holding.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve—” He licks his lips and starts again. “I think I’ve wanted this for a while Stiles, long before I realised you were my anchor. I just—I didn’t think you liked me that way.”

Stiles snorts. “You have supernatural senses and you couldn’t work out that I like you?” He uses his heels to roll the chair closer to the bed, forcing Derek to spread his knees so Stiles can slot his legs in. “I gotta say, I’m a little in awe,” he confesses. “Why me?”

Derek shrugs. “You care about people, really care about them and not just when it suits you. You’re smart and kind and loyal.” He ducks his head so that Stiles can’t see his face. “Somehow you worked your way in under my skin.”

“You know, most people would call that annoying,” Stiles teases.

“I like it,” Derek insists. “You feel like—” he pauses. “Safety. Pack. Home.”

Stiles flushes. “That’s great, really awesome and I— I mean I really like you and—" he bites his lip and decides to go all in. “I really want to kiss you.”

Derek’s gaze flicks from Stiles’ eyes, down to his mouth.

“Yes.”

Stiles lunges forward, sliding off the chair so that he’s kneeling on the floor between Derek’s thighs. He reaches up with his hands, tangling his fingers through the werewolf’s hair to drag him down to meet his lips.

Derek’s hands grasp at him—his shirt, his neck, his face—matching Stiles’ frantic movements. They rock into each, Derek spreading his legs wide.

Then Stiles’ knee cramps and he overbalances tipping into Derek. “Ow, motherfucker.”

They spring back from each other, Stiles leaning down to rub the cramp out of his leg and Derek scooting back on the bed. Their eyes lock as Stiles straightens and then the laughter starts to bubble up.

“Oh my god.” Stiles flops forward, pressing his forehead to Derek’s thigh and tries to smother the hysterical giggling. “I’m sorry.” He risks a glance up at Derek and sees that the werewolf is smiling too. “That worked out better in my head.” He stands and shakes out his leg. “We should definitely try again though.”

***

**Epilogue**

Stiles steps out of the gate, searching the small crowd for his dad. It’s late and he’s spent most of the day travelling and he wants nothing more than to go home and sleep.

He’s about to pull out his phone and call his dad when another, equally familiar face appears in the crowded arrivals hall.

“Hey!” Stiles bounds over to Derek, dropping his bags at their feet to he can step up into the werewolf’s personal space. “What are you doing here?”

He wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and feels the ghost of Derek’s hand down his neck and across his shoulder. He wonders what he smells like after spending more than six hours stuck on a plane surrounded by strangers. Derek’s probably chomping at the bit to get him somewhere private and get him smelling like pack again.

“Your dad got held up at work,” Derek explains, reaching for one of Stiles’ bags. He slings it over his shoulder and lets Stiles drag him out towards the carpark. “He got stuck pulling a double shift.”

Stiles winces in sympathy. “That’s rough, but at least he can’t moan about me spending too much time with you.” He stops, realises he has no idea where the car's parked and lets Derek take the lead. 

While they drive, Stiles catches Derek up on what he’s been up to since they last saw each other while Derek nods along.

“Wait, where are we going?” Stiles asks when Derek misses the turn off to the main street that cuts through town towards his house.

Derek smirks, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I want to show you something.”

It doesn’t take long to work out they’re heading towards the old Hale house, but Derek turns off the bitumen well before they reach the bumpy dirt track that winds up towards the property.

“Where—" Stiles presses up against the window trying to catch a glimpse of the house through the trees. He turns to Derek. “You didn’t rebuild it?”

Derek shakes his head, pulling up in front of the house and putting the car in park.

“I was going to.” He fidgets with the car keys in his hand. “I _wanted_ to, but it wasn’t the same.” He looks up at the new house. “It didn’t feel right.” He nods towards the trees off to their left. “We ended up pulling the old house down completely, but even then…” He trails off. “It was Boyd’s idea to find a new spot.”

Stiles looks out at the house. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe you did this!”

“You want to see inside?”

“Yes.”

Stiles scrambles from the car and up the steps onto the wide porch, peeking through the windows waiting for Derek to catch up. “Oh my god, it has furniture.” He teases, prompting a playful shove from Derek as the werewolf goes to unlock the front door.

“I’m serious,” Stiles says. “I was honestly expecting to see like, a bare mattress or something.”

“The loft had furniture.”

“The loft had a table and the world’s most uncomfortable couch and that was it, buddy.”

“And a TV.”

Stiles drags Derek into the house. “Yeah, yeah,” he waves him off. “C’mon, you going to show me around or what?”

***

Stiles sprawls out on the couch, feeling overstuffed from dinner. There is a mess of plates and pans piled up in the sink, waiting to be cleaned but for now they can wait. He’s too content to move.

There’s a warm hand on his ankle and Stiles glances down at his feet in Derek’s lap. The werewolf is rubbing his thumb over the ankle bone absentmindedly while he’s focused on the movie.

“Hey.” He nudges Derek with his toe to get his attention.

“Yeah?” Derek looks up, his thumb still sweeping over the bare skin of Stiles’ ankle. It will never cease to amaze Stiles that he gets to see Derek like this—at peace. Relaxed and comfortable in his own skin. It makes his heart swell.

Right now, in this moment, there is no where Stiles would rather be.

It feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... finished? 
> 
> Oh my god you guys... I honestly can't believe it. I had resigned myself to this sitting unfinished on my dash for ever but somehow I managed to keep going!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it! I enjoyed writing it once I forced myself to stop stressing out about it and just go with it. Please leave me a comment or a kudos if you did! 
> 
> I am on I'm on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/) come say 'hi'. I love chatting about teen wolf.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, okay, so it's been a while but I'm having a go at writing a multi-chap fic. This has been sitting on my computer for a _while_ but I finally found the time and energy to finish it (woo). The later chapters are still in draft stage but it _is_ finished and I'll work on polishing them and update once a week.
> 
> If you enjoy the first chapter a kudos would be super appreciated. I'll use it as motivation to finish the other two WIPs I'm working on.
> 
> I'm over on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/) as well if anyone wants to send me a short prompt to keep the brain pumping!


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